<£toition 


LETTERS  AND    SOCIAL     AIMS 

BEING  VOLUME  VIII. 
OF 

EMERSON'S  COMPLETE  WORKS 


LETTERS  AND  SOCIAL  AIMS 


BY 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 


an*  Hetofeefc 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND    COMPANY 
New  York:  11  East  Seventeenth  Street 

(3Tfc  Cttoeraibe  $re£0, 
1884 


Copyright,  1875, 
BY  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

Copyright,  1883, 
Br  EDWARD  W.  EMERSON. 

2  #-r^7      £/ 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cartihrirls*  t 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  U.  0.  Iloughton  &  Co 


ps  u»n 


NOTE. 


IT  seems  proper  to  mention  here  the  circum 
stances  under  which  this  volume  was  put  together, 
as  they  may  have  some  bearing  upon  the  estimate 
to  be  placed  upon  it.  Some  time  perhaps  in  1870, 
Mr.  Emerson  learned  that  a  London  publisher  was 
intending,  without  consulting  him,  to  make  up  a 
volume  of  his  uncollected  writings,  from  the  "  Dial " 
and  elsewhere.  He  was  much  disturbed  by  this  in 
telligence,  and  wrote  to  his  friend,  Mr.  Moncure 
Conway,  to  stop  the  publication  if  possible.  In  this 
Mr.  Conway  succeeded,  but  only  upon  the  agree 
ment  that  Mr.  Emerson  would  himself  make  such 
a  collection,  adding  some  new  pieces,  and  would 
send  advance-sheets  to  England,  so  that  the  book 
might  appear  simultaneously  in  both  countries. 
This  being  settled,  the  American  and  the  English 
publishers  began  to  urge  speed,  and  Mr.  Emerson 
applied  himself  to  the  task,  though  with  heavy 
heart,  partly  from  a  feeling  of  repugnance  at  being 
forced  into  an  enterprise  which  he  had  not  in 
tended,  but  still  more  perhaps  from  a  sense  of  ina- 


11  NOTE. 

bility,  more  real  than  he  knew,  which  was  begin 
ning  to  make  itself  felt.  He  made,  accordingly, 
but  slow  progress,  so  that  in  the  summer  of  1872 
he  had  got  ready  little  more  than  the  first  piece, 
Poetry  and  Imagination,  the  proof-sheets  of  which 
were  in  his  hands,  —  indeed  had  been  for  some  time 
in  his  hands,  —  when  on  the  24th  of  July  his  house 
was  burned  and  all  possibility  of  work  put  an  end 
to  for  the  time,  not  merely  by  the  confusion  of  his 
papers  and  the  destruction  of  his  wonted  surround 
ings,  but  yet  more  effectually  by  an  illness  result 
ing  from  the  shock. 

The  proof-sheets  showed  that  already  before  this 
accident  his  loss  of  memory  and  of  mental  grasp 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  make  it  unlikely  that  he 
would  in  any  case  have  been  able  to  accomplish 
what  he  had  undertaken.  Sentences,  even  whole 
pages,  were  repeated,  and  there  was  a  confusion  of 
order  beyond  what  even  he  would  have  tolerated. 
Now,  at  any  rate,  nothing  was  to  be  thought  of  but 
rest  and  the  attempt  to  restore  the  tone  of  his  mind 
by  some  diversion.  The  Nile-tour  was  suggested 
and  made  feasible  by  kind  friends,  and  he  wrote  to 
England  explaining  the  necessity  for  some  delay. 
Soon  after  his  return  home  he  heard  of  the  death 
of  the  English  publisher,  and  supposed  himself 
free.  But  in  1875  he  was  informed  that  the  claim 
had  passed  on  to  the  successors  of  the  London  firm, 


NOTE.  iii 

and  that  they  were  asking  what  had  become  of 
their  book.  The  old  proof-sheets  were  again  taken 
in  hand,  but  again  with  a  painful  sense  of  incapac 
ity  to  deal  with  them.  By  degrees  and  with  much 
reluctance  he  admitted  the  necessity  of  some  assist 
ance.  It  was  known  to  his  family  that  he  intended 
to  make  me  his  literary  executor,  and  he  now  ac 
ceded  to  their  asking  me  to  help  him  with  the  book. 
Before  long  he  had  committed  the  business  of  se 
lection  and  preparation  for  the  press,  almost  en 
tirely  to  me.  Of  course  he  was  constantly  con 
sulted,  and  he  would  sometimes,  upon  urging,  sup 
ply  a  needed  word  or  sentence,  but  he  was  quite 
content  to  do  as  little  as  possible,  and  desired  to 
leave  everything  in  my  hands. 

This  will  appear  to  be  of  the  more  consequence 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  with  the  exception  of  four, 
viz.,  The  Comic,  Persian  Poetry,  Quotation  and 
Originality,  and  Progress  of  Culture,  the  essays 
contained  in  this  volume,  though  written  in  great 
part  long  before,  had  never  been  published:  and, 
further,  of  the  state  of  the  manuscripts,  which  con 
sisted  of  loose  sheets,  laid  together  in  parcels,  each 
marked  on  the  cover  with  the  title  under  which  it 
was  last  read  as  a  lecture,  but  often  without  any 
completely  recoverable  order  or  fixed  limits.  Mr. 
Emerson  was  in  the  habit  of  repeating,  on  different 
occasions,  what  was  nominally  the  same  lecture,  in 


iv  NOTE. 

reality  often  varied  by  the  introduction  of  part  of 
some  other,  or  of  new  matter.  This,  with  his  free 
dom  of  transition  and  breadth  of  scope,  which  were 
apt  in  any  case  to  render  the  boundaries  of  the  sub 
ject  somewhat  indistinct,  made  it  often  difficult  or 
impossible  for  anyone  to  determine  with  confidence 
to  what  particular  lecture  a  given  sheet  or  scrap 
originally  belonged.  Nor  indeed  did  I  attempt,  in 
preparing  the  copy  for  the  press,  to  adhere  always 
to  a  single  manuscript.  To  have  attempted  this 
would  have  been  contrary  to  Mr.  Emerson's  wishes. 
What  he  desired  was  simply  to  bring  together  un 
der  the  particular  heading  whatever  could  be  found 
that  seemed  in  place  there,  without  regard  to  the 
connection  in  which  it  was  found.  This  had  been 
his  own  practice,  and  all  his  suggestions  to  me  were 
to  this  effect.  Most  of  the  time  that  he  spent 
(which  was  not  very  much),  over  the  work,  was 
spent  in  searching  his  note-books,  new  and  old,  for 
fresh  matter  that  might  be  introduced  with  advan 
tage.  In  this  way  it  happened  sometimes  that 
writing  of  very  different  dates  was  brought  to 
gether  :  e.  g.  the  essay  on  Immortality,  which  has 
been  cited  as  showing  what  were  his  latest  opinions 
on  that  subject,  contains  passages  written  fifty 
years  apart  from  each  other.  Then,  as  to  the  se 
lection  of  the  essays,  there  were,  it  is  true,  lists  pre 
pared  by  Mr.  Emerson  with  a  view  to  future  vol- 


NOTE.  v 

umes,  but  many  of  the  papers  had  been  lying  by 
him  for  years  unpublished,  and  it  is  open  to  any 
one  to  say  that  he  never  really  decided  upon  pub 
lishing  them,  and,  if  he  had  been  left  to  himself, 
never  would  have  published  them. 

There  is  nothing  here  that  he  did  not  write,  and 
he  gave  his  full  approval  to  whatever  was  done  in 
the  way  of  selection  and  arrangement;  but  I  can 
not  say  that  he  applied  his  mind  very  closely  to 
the  matter.  He  was  pleased,  in  a  general  way, 
that  the  work  should  go  on,  but  it  may  be  a  ques 
tion  exactly  how  far  he  sanctioned  it. 

J.  E.  CABOT. 

August  27,  1883. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION 7 

SOCIAL  AIMS     -^      ........  77 

ELOQUENCE  ........        e        .  107 

RESOURCES 131 

THE  COMIC 149 

QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY        .        .        .        .        .  167 

PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE .  195 

PERSIAN  POETRY      ........  223 

INSPIRATION          ....        0         ...  255 

GREATNESS 283 

IMMORTALITY        .        .                                                        .  305 


POETRY  AND   IMAGINATION. 


POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 


THE  perception  of  matter  is  made  the  common 
sense,  and  for  cause.  This  was  the  cradle,  this  the 
go-cart,  of  the  human  child.  We  must  learn  the 
homely  laws  of  fire  and  water ;  we  must  feed,  wash, 
plant,  build.  These  are  ends  of  necessity,  and  first 
in  the  order  of  nature.  Poverty,  frost,  famine, 
disease,  debt,  are  the  beadles  and  guardsmen  that 
hold  us  to  common-sense.  The  intellect,  yielded 
up  to  itself,  cannot  supersede  this  tyrannic  neces 
sity.  The  restraining  grace  of  common-sense  is  the 
mark  of  all  the  valid  minds,  —  of  ^Esop,  Aristotle, 
Alfred,  Luther,  Shakspeare,  Cervantes,  Franklin, 
Napoleon.  The  common-sense  which  does  not  med 
dle  with  the  absolute,  but  takes  things  at  their 
word,  —  things  as  they  appear,  —  believes  in  the 
existence  of  matter,  not  because  we  can  touch  it  or 
conceive  of  it,  but  because  it  agrees  with  ourselves, 
and  the  universe  does  not  jest  with  us,  but  is  in 
earnest,  is  the  house  of  health  and  life.  In  spite 
of  all  the  joys  of  poets  and  the  joys  of  saints, 
the  most  imaginative  and  abstracted  person  never 


10  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

makes  with  impunity  the  least  mistake  in  this  par 
ticular,  —  never  tries  to  kindle  his  oven  with  water, 
nor  carries  a  torch  into  a  powder-mill,  nor  seizes 
his  wild  charger  by  the  tail.  We  should  not  par 
don  the  blunder  in  another,  nor  endure  it  in  our 
selves. 

But  whilst  we  deal  with  this  as  finality,  early 
hints  are  given  that  we  are  not  to  stay  here ;  that 
we  must  be  making  ready  to  go  ;  —  a  warning  that 
this  magnificent  hotel  and  conveniency  we  call  Na 
ture  is  not  final.  First  innuendoes,  then  broad 
hints,  then  smart  taps  are  given,  suggesting  that 
nothing  stands  still  in  nature  but  death ;  that  the 
creation  is  on  wheels,  in  transit,  always  passing  into 
something  else,  streaming  into  something  higher ; 
that  matter  is  not  what  it  appears  ;  —  that  chemis 
try  can  blow  it  all  into  gas.  Faraday,  the  most 
exact  of  natural  philosophers,  taught  that  when  we 
should  arrive  at  the  monads,  or  primordial  elements 
( the  supposed  little  cubes  or  prisms  of  which  all 
matter  was  built  up),  we  should  not  find  cubes,  or 
prisms,  or  atoms,  at  all,  but  spherules  of  force.  It 
was  whispered  that  the  globes  of  the  universe  were 
precipitates  of  something  more  subtle;  nay,  some 
what  was  murmured  in  our  ear  that  dwindled  as 
tronomy  into  a  toy;  —  that  too  was  no  finality; 
only  provisional,  a  makeshift ;  that  under  chemistry 
was  power  and  purpose :  power  and  purpose  ride 


INTRODUCTORY.  11 

on  matter  to  the  last  atom.  It  was  steeped  in 
thought,  did  everywhere  express  thought ;  that,  as 
great  conquerors  have  burned  their  ships  when 
once  they  were  landed  on  the  wished-for  shore,  so 
the  noble  house  of  Nature  we  inhabit  has  tempo 
rary  uses,  and  we  can  afford  to  leave  it  one  day. 
The  ends  of  all  are  moral,  and  therefore  the  begin 
nings  are  such.  Thin  or  solid,  everything  is  in 
flight.  I  believe  this  conviction  makes  the  charm 
of  chemistry,  — that  we  have  the  same  avoirdupois 
matter  in  an  alembic,  without  a  vestige  of  the  old 
form ;  and  in  animal  transformation  not  less,  as  in 
grub  and  fly,  in  egg  and  bird,  in  embryo  and  man ; 
everything  undressing  and  stealing  away  from  its 
old  into  new  form,  and  nothing  fast  but  those  in 
visible  cords  which  we  call  laws,  on  which  all  is 
strung.  Then  we  see  that  things  wear  different 
names  and  faces,  but  belong  to  one  family;  that 
the  secret  cords  or  laws  show  their  well-known  vir 
tue  through  every  variety,  be  it  animal,  or  plant, 
or  planet,  and  the  interest  is  gradually  transferred 
from  the  forms  to  the  lurking  method. 

This  hint,  however  conveyed,  upsets  our  politics, 
trade,  customs,  marriages,  nay,  the  common-sense 
side  of  religion  and  literature,  which  are  all  founded 
011  low  nature,  —  on  the  clearest  and  most  econom 
ical  mode  of  administering  the  material  world,  con 
sidered  as  final.  The  admission,  never  so  covertly, 


12  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

that  this  is  a  makeshift,  sets  the  dullest  brain  in 
ferment  :  our  little  sir,  from  his  first  tottering 
steps,  as  soon  as  he  can  crow,  does  not  like  to  be 
practised  upon,  suspects  that  some  one  is  "  doing  " 
him,  and  at  this  alarm  everything  is  compromised ; 
gunpowder  is  laid  under  every  man's  breakfast- 
table. 

But  whilst  the  man  is  startled  by  this  closer 
inspection  of  the  laws  of  matter,  his  attention  is 
called  to  the  independent  action  of  the  mind ;  its 
strange  suggestions  and  laws ;  a  certain  tyranny 
which  springs  up  in  his  own  thoughts,  which  have 
an  order,  method,  and  beliefs  of  their  own,  very 
different  from  the  order  which  this  common-sense 
uses. 

Suppose  there  were  in  the  ocean  certain  strong 
currents  which  drove  a  ship,  caught  in  them,  with 
a  force  that  no  skill  of  sailing  with  the  best  wind, 
and  no  strength  of  oars,  or  sails,  or  steam,  could 
make  any  head  against,  any  more  than  against  the 
current  of  Niagara.  Such  currents,  so  tyrannical, 
exist  in  thoughts,  those  finest  and  subtilest  of  all 
waters,  that  as  soon  as  once  thought  begins,  it  re 
fuses  to  remember  whose  brain  it  belongs  to ;  what 
country,  tradition,  or  religion ;  and  goes  whirling 
off  —  swim  we  merrily  —  in  a  direction  self -chosen, 
by  law  of  thought  and  not  by  law  of  kitchen  clock 
or  county  committee.  It  has  its  own  polarity.  One 


INTRODUCTORY.  13 

of  these  vortices  or  self-directions  of  thought  is  the 
impulse  to  search  resemblance,  affinity,  identity, 
in  all  its  objects,  and  hence  our  science,  from  its 
rudest  to  its  most  refined  theories. 

The  electric  word  pronounced  by  John  Hunter  a 
hundred  years  ago,  arrested  and  progressive  devel 
opment,  indicating  the  way  upward  from  the  invisi 
ble  protoplasm  to  the  highest  organisms,  gave  the 
poetic  key  to  Natural  Science,  of  which  the  theo 
ries  of  Geoffrey  St.  Hilaire,  of  Oken,  of  Goethe,  of 
Agassiz  and  Owen  arid  Darwin  in  zoology  and  bot 
any,  are  the  fruits,  —  a  hint  whose  power  is  not 
yet  exhausted,  showing  unity  and  perfect  order  in 
physics. 

The  hardest  chemist,  the  severest  analyzer,  scorn 
ful  of  all  but  dryest/  fact,  is  forced  to  keep  the 
poetic  curve  of  nature,  and  his  result  is  like  a 
myth  of  Theocritus.  All  multiplicity  rushes  to  be 
resolved  into  unity.  Anatomy,  osteology,  exhibit 
arrested  or  progressive  ascent  in  each  kind ;  the 
lower  pointing  to  the  higher  forms,  the  higher  to 
the  highest,  from  the  fluid  in  an  elastic  sack,  from 
radiate,  mollusk,  articulate,  vertebrate,  up  to  man ; 
as  if  the  whole  animal  world  were  only  a  Huii- 
terian  museum  to  exhibit  the  genesis  of  man 
kind. 

Identity  of  law,  perfect  order  in  physics,  perfect 
parallelism  between  the  laws  of  Nature  and  the 


14  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

laws  of  thought  exist.  In  botany  we  have  the  like, 
the  poetic  perception  of  metamorphosis,  —  that  the 
same  vegetable  point  or  eye  which  is  the  unit  of 
the  plant  can  be  transformed  at  pleasure  into  every 
part,  as  bract,  leaf,  petal,  stamen,  pistil,  or  seed. 

In  geology,  what  a  useful  hint  was  given  to  the 
early  inquirers  on  seeing  in  the  possession  of  Pro 
fessor  Playfair  a  bough  of  a  fossil  tree  which  was 
perfect  wood  at  one  end  and  perfect  mineral  coal 
at  the  other.  Natural  objects,  if  individually  de 
scribed  and  out  of  connection,  are  not  yet  known, 
since  they  are  really  parts  of  a  symmetrical  uni 
verse,  like  words  of  a  sentence ;  and  if  their  true 
order  is  found,  the  poet  can  read  their  divine  sig 
nificance  orderly  as  in  a  Bible.  Each  animal  or 
vegetable  form  remembers  the  next  inferior  and 
predicts  the  next  higher. 

There  is  one  animal,  one  plant,  one  matter,  and 
one  force.  The  laws  of  light  and  of  heat  trans 
late  each  other ;  —  so  do  the  laws  of  sound  and  of 
color ;  and  so  galvanism,  electricity,  and  magnetism 
are  varied  forms  of  the  selfsame  energy.  While 
the  student  ponders  this  immense  unity,  he  observes 
that  all  things  in  Nature,  the  animals,  the  moun 
tain,  the  river,  the  seasons,  wood,  iron,  stone,  vapor, 
have  a  mysterious  relation  to  his  thoughts  and  his 
life ;  their  growths,  decays,  quality  and  use  so  cu 
riously  resemble  himself,  in  parts  and  in  wholes, 


INTRODUCTORY.  15 

that  he  is  compelled  to  speak  by  means  of  them. 
His  words  and  his  thoughts  are  framed  by  their 
help.  Every  noun  is  an  image.  Nature  gives  him, 
sometimes  in  a  flattered  likeness,  sometimes  in  cari 
cature,  a  copy  of  every  humor  and  shade  in  his 
character  and  mind.  The  world  is  an  immense 
picture-book  of  every  passage  in  human  life.  Every 
object  he  beholds  is  the  mask  of  a  man. 

"  The  privates  of  man's  heart 
They  speken  and  sound  in  his  ear 
As  tho'  they  loud  winds  were ;  " 

for  the  universe  is  full  of  their  echoes. 

Every  correspondence  we  observe  in  mind  and 
matter  suggests  a  substance  older  and  deeper  than 
either  of  these  old  nobilities.  We  see  the  law 
gleaming  through,  like  the  sense  of  a  half-translated 
ode  of  Hafiz.  The  poet  who  plays  with  it  with 
most  boldness  best  justifies  himself;  is  most  pro 
found  and  most  devout.  Passion  adds  eyes;  is 
a  magnifying-glass.  Sonnets  of  lovers  are  mad 
enough,  but  are  valuable  to  the  philosopher,  as  are 
prayers  of  saints,  for  their  potent  symbolism. 

Science  was  false  by  being  unpoetical.  It  as 
sumed  to  explain  a  reptile  or  mollusk,  and  isolated 
it,  —  which  is  hunting  for  life  in  graveyards.  Rep 
tile  or  mollusk  or  man  or  angel  only  exists  in  sys 
tem,  in  relation.  The  metaphysician,  the  poet,  only 
sees  each  animal  form  as  an  inevitable  step  in  the 


16  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

path  of  the  creating  mind.  The  Indian,  the  hunter, 
the  boy  with  his  pets,  have  sweeter  knowledge  of 
these  than  the  savant.  We  use  semblances  of  logic 
until  experience  puts  us  in  possession  of  real  logic. 
The  poet  knows  the  missing  link  by  the  joy  it 
gives.  The  poet  gives  us  the  eminent  experiences 
only,  —  a  god  stepping  from  peak  to  peak,  nor 
planting  his  foot  but  on  a  mountain. 

Science  does  not  know  its  debt  to  imagination. 
Goethe  did  not  believe  that  a  great  naturalist  coidd 
exist  without  this  faculty.  He  was  himself  con 
scious  of  its  help,  which  made  him  a  prophet 
among  the  doctors.  From  this  vision  he  gave 
brave  hints  to  the  zoologist,  the  botanist,  and  the 
optician. 

Poetry.  —  The  primary  use  of  a  fact  is  low ;  the 
secondary  use,  as  it  is  a  figure  or  illustration  of  my 
thought,  is  the  real  worth.  First  the  fact ;  second 
its  impression,  or  what  I  think  of  it.  Hence  Nature 
was  called  "  a  kind  of  adulterated  reason."  Seas, 
forests,  metals,  diamonds  and  fossils  interest  the 
eye,  but  't  is  only  with  some  preparatory  or  predict 
ing  charm.  Their  value  to  the  intellect  appears 
only  when  I  hear  their  meaning  made  plain  in  the 
spiritual  truth  they  cover.  The  mind,  penetrated 
with  its  sentiment  or  its  thought,  projects  it;  out 
ward  on  whatever  it  beholds.  The  lover  sees  re- 


POETRY.  17 

minders  of  his  mistress  in  every  beautiful  object ; 
the  saint,  an  argument  for  devotion  in  every  nat 
ural  process ;  and  the  facility  with  which  Nature 
lends  itself  to  the  thoughts  of  man,  the  aptness 
with  which  a  river,  a  flower,  a  bird,  fire,  day  or 
night,  can  express  his  fortunes,  is  as  if  the  world 
were  only  a  disguised  man,  and,  with  a  change 
of  form,  rendered  to  him  all  his  experience.  We 
cannot  utter  a  sentence  in  sprightly  conversation 
without  a  similitude.  Note  our  incessant  use  of 
the  word  like,  —  like  fire,  like  a  rock,  like  thunder, 
like  a  bee,  "  like  a  year  without  a  spring."  Con 
versation  is  not  permitted  without  tropes  ;  nothing 
but  great  weight  in  things  can  afford  a  quite  literal 
speech.  It  is  ever  enlivened  by  inversion  and  trope. 
God  himself  does  not  speak  prose,  but  communi 
cates  with  us  by  hints,  omens,  inference,  and  dark 
resemblances  in  objects  lying  all  around  us. 

Nothing  so  marks  a  man  as  imaginative  expres 
sions.  A  figurative  statement  arrests  attention,  and 
is  remembered  and  repeated.  How  often  has  a 
phrase  of  this  kind  made  a  reputation.  Pythago- 
ras's  Golden  Sayings  were  such,  and  Socrates's,  and 
Mirabeau's,  and  Burke's,  and  Bonaparte's.  Genius 
thus  makes  the  transfer  from  one  part  of  Nature 
to  a  remote  part,  and  betrays  the  rhymes  and 
echoes  that  pole  makes  with  pole.  Imaginative 
minds  cling  to  their  images,  and  do  not  wish  them 

VOL.    VIII.  2 


18  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

rashly  rendered  into  prose  reality,  as  children  re 
sent  your  showing  them  that  their  doll  Cinderella 
is  nothing  but  pine  wood  and  rags  ;  and  my  young 
scholar  does  not  wish  to  know  what  the  leopard, 
the  wolf,  or  Lucia,  signify  in  Dante's  Inferno,  but 
prefers  to  keep  their  veils  on.  Mark  the  delight 
of  an  audience  in  an  image.  When  some  familiar 
truth  or  fact  appears  in  a  new  dress,  mounted  as 
on  a  fine  horse,  equipped  with  a  grand  pair  of 
ballooning  wings,  we  cannot  enough  testify  our 
surprise  and  pleasure.  It  is  like  the  new  virtue 
shown  in  some  unprized  old  property,  as  when  a 
boy  finds  that  his  pocket-knife  will  attract  steel 
filings  and  take  up  a  needle ;  or  when  the  old  horse 
block  in  the  yard  is  found  to  be  a  Torso  Hercules 
of  the  Phidiau  age.  Vivacity  of  expression  may 
indicate  this  high  gift,  even  when  the  thought  is 
of  no  great  scope,  as  when  Michel  Angelo,  praising 
the  terra  cottas,  said,  "  If  this  earth  were  to  become 
marble,  woe  to  the  antiques  !  "  A  happy  symbol 
is  a  sort  of  evidence  that  your  thought  is  just.  I 
had  rather  have  a  good  symbol  of  my  thought,  or 
a  good  analogy,  than  the  suffrage  of  Kant  or  Plato. 
If  you  agree  with  me,  or  if  Locke  or  Montesquieu 
agree,  I  may  yet  be  wrong ;  but  if  the  elm-tree 
thinks  the  same  thing,  if  running  water,  if  burning 
coal,  if  crystals,  if  alkalies,  in  their  several  fashions 
say  what  I  say,  it  must  be  true.  Thus  a  good  sym- 


POETRY.  \S**/,rl9 

•   W  £\t  **    - 

bol  is  the  best  argument,  and  is  a  missionary 
persuade  thousands.  The  Yedas,  the  Edda,  the 
Koran,  are  each  remembered  by  their  happiest  fig 
ure.  There  is  110  more  welcome  gift  to  men  than 
a  new  symbol.  That  satiates,  transports,  converts 
them.  They  assimilate  themselves  to  it,  deal  with  it 
in  all  ways,  and  it  will  last  a  hundred  years.  Then 
comes  a  new  genius,  and  brings  another.  Thus  the 
Greek  mythology  called  the  sea  "  the  tear  of  Sat 
urn."  The  return  of  the  soul  to  God  was  described 
as  ua  flask  of  water  broken  in  the  sea."  Saint 
John  gave  us  the  Christian  figure  of  "  souls  washed 
in  the  blood  of  Christ."  The  aged  Michel  Angelo 
indicates  his  perpetual  study  as  in  boyhood,  —  "I 
carry  my  satchel  still."  Machiavel  described  the 
papacy  as  "  a  stone  inserted  in  the  body  of  Italy  to 
keep  the  wound  open."  To  the  Parliament  debat 
ing  how  to  tax  America,  Burke  exclaimed,  "  Shear 
the  wolf."  Our  Kentuckian  orator  said  of  his  dis 
sent  from  his  companion,  "  I  showed  him  the  back 
of  my  hand."  And  our  proverb  of  the  courteous 
soldier  reads  :  "  An  iron  hand  in  a  velvet  glove." 

This  belief  that  the  higher  use  of  the  material     / 
world  is  to  furnish  us  types  or  pictures  to  express    / 
the  thoughts  of  the  mind,  is  carried  to  its  logical  / 
extreme  by  the  Hindoos,  who,  following  Buddha, 
have  made  it  the  central  doctrine  of  their  religion 
that  what  we  call  Nature,  the  external  world,  has 


20  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

no  real  existence,  —  is  only  phenomenal.  Youth, 
age,  property,  condition,  events,  persons,  —  self, 
even,  —  are  successive  malas  (deceptions)  through 
which  Vishnu  mocks  and  instructs  the  soul.  I 
think  Hindoo  books  the  best  gymnastics  for  the 
mind,  as  showing  treatment.  All  European  libra 
ries  might  almost  be  read  without  the  swing  of  this 
gigantic  arm  being  suspected.  But  these  Orientals 
deal  with  worlds  and  pebbles  freely. 

For  the  value  of  a  trope  is  that  the  hearer  is 
one  :  and  indeed  Nature  itself  is  a  vast  trope,  and 
all  particular  natures  are  tropes.  As  the  bird 
alights  on  the  bough,  then  plunges  into  the  air 
again,  so  the  thoughts  of  God  pause  but  for  a  mo 
ment  in  any  form.  All  thinking  is  analogizing,  and 
it  is  the  use  of  life  to  learn  metonymy.  The  end 
less  passing  of  one  element  into  new  forms,  the  in 
cessant  metamorphosis,  explains  the  rank  which  the 
imagination  holds  in  our  catalogue  of  mental  pow 
ers.  The  imagination  is  the  reader  of  these  forms. 
The  poet  accounts  all  .productions  and  changes  of 
Nature  as  the  nouns  of  language,  uses  them  repre 
sentatively,  too  well  pleased  with  their  ulterior  to 
value  much  their  primary  meaning.  Every  new 
object  so  seen  gives  a  shock  of  agreeable  surprise. 
The  impressions  on  the  imagination  make  the  great 
days  of  life :  the  book,  the  landscape,  or  the  per 
sonality  which  did  not  stay  on  the  surface  of  the 


POETRY.  21 

eye  or  ear  but  penetrated  to  the  inward  sense,  agi 
tates  us,  and  is  not  forgotten.  Walking,  working, 
or  talking,  the  sole  question  is  how  many  strokes 
vibrate  on  this  mystic  string,  —  how  many  diame 
ters  are  drawn  quite  through  from  matter  to  spirit ; 
for  whenever  you  enunciate  a  natural  law  you  dis 
cover  that  you  have  enunciated  a  law  of  the  mind. 
Chemistry,  geology,  hydraulics,  are  secondary  sci 
ence.  The  atomic  theory  is  only  an  interior  pro 
cess  produced,  as  geometers  say,  or  the  effect  of 
a  foregone  metaphysical  theory.  Swedenborg  saw 
gravity  to  be  only  an  external  of  the  irresistible 
attractions  of  affection  and  faith.  Mountains  and 
oceans  we  think  we  understand .;  —  yes,  so  long  as 
they  are  contented  to  be  such,  and  are  safe  with 
the  geologist,  —  but  when  they  are  melted  in  Pro 
methean  alembics  and  come  out  men,  and  then, 
melted  again,  come  out  words,  without  any  abate 
ment,  but  with  an  exaltation  of  power  ! 

In  poetry  we  say  we  require  the  miracle.  The 
bee  flies  among  the  flowers,  and  gets  mint  and  mar 
joram,  and  generates  a  new  product,  which  is  not 
mint  and  marjoram,  but  honey  ;  the  chemist  mixes 
hydrogen  and  oxygen  to  yield  a  new  product,  which 
is  not  these,  but  water;  and  the  poet  listens  to  con 
versation  and  beholds  all  objects  in  nature,  to  give 
back,  not  them,  but  a  new  and  transcendent  whole. 

Poetry  is  the  perpetual  endeavor  to  express  the 


22  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

spirit  of  the  tiling,  to  pass  the  brute  body  and 
search  the  life  and  reason  which  causes  it  to  exist ; 
—  to  see  that  the  object  is  always  flowing  away, 
whilst  the  spirit  or  necessity  which  causes  it  sub 
sists.  Its  essential  mark  is  that  it  betrays  in  every 
word  instant  activity  of  mind,  shown  in  new  uses 
of  every  fact  and  image,  in  preternatural  quick 
ness  or  perception  of  relations.  All  its  words  are 
poems.  It  is  a  presence  of  mind  that  gives  a 
miraculous  command  of  all  means  of  uttering  the 

O 

thought  and  feeling  of  the  moment.  The  poet 
squanders  on  the  hour  an  amount  of  life  that  would 
more  than  furnish  the  seventy  years  of  the  man 
that  stands  next  him. 

The  term  "  genius,"  when  used  with  emphasis, 
implies  imagination ;  use  of  symbols,  figurative 
speech.  A  deep  insight  will  always,  like  Nature, 
ultimate  its  thought  in  a  thing.  As  soon  as  a  man 
masters  a  principle  and  sees  his  facts  in  relation  to 
it,  fields,  waters,  skies,  offer  to  clothe  his  thoughts 
in  images.  Then  all  men  understand  him  ;  Par 
thian,  Mede,  Chinese,  Spaniard,  and  Indian  hear 
their  own  tongue.  For  he  can  now  find  symbols 
of  universal  significance,  which  are  readily  ren 
dered  into  any  dialect ;  as  a  painter,  a  sculptor, 
a  musician,  can  in  their  several  ways  express  the 
same  sentiment  of  anger,  or  love,  or  religion. 

The  thoughts  are  few,  the  forms  many ;  the  large 


IMAGINATION.  23 

vocabulary  or  many-colored  coat  of  the  indigent 
unity.  The  savans  are  chatty  and  vain,  but  hold 
them  hard  to  principle  and  definition,  and  they  be 
come  mute  and  near-sighted.  What  is  motion  ? 
what  is  beauty  ?  what  is  matter  ?  what  is  life  ? 
what  is  force  ?  Push  them  hard  and  they  will  not 
be  loquacious.  They  will  come  to  Plato,  Proclus, 
and  Swedenborg.  The  invisible  and  imponderable 
is  the  sole  fact.  "Why  changes  not  the  violet 
earth  into  musk?  "  What  is  the  term  of  the  ever- 
flowing  metamorphosis  ?  I  do  not  know  what 
are  the  stoppages,  but  I  see  that  a  devouring  unity 
changes  all  into  that  which  changes  not. 

O  O 

The  act  of  imagination  is  ever  attended  by  pure 
delight.  It  infuses  a  certain  volatility  and  intoxi 
cation  into  all  nature.  It  has  a  flute  which  sets 
the  atoms  of  our  frame  in  a  dance.  Our  indeter 
minate  size  is  a  delicious  secret  which  it  reveals  to 
us.  The  mountains  begin  to  dislimn,  and  float  in 
the  air.  In  the  presence  and  conversation  of  a  true 
poet,  teeming  with  images  to  express  his  enlarging 
thought,  his  person,  his  form,  grows  larger  to  our 
fascinated  eyes.  And  thus  begins  that  deification 
which  all  nations  have  made  of  their  heroes  in 
every  kind,  —  saints,  poets,  lawgivers,  and  war 
riors. 

Imagination.  —  Whilst  common-sense  looks  at 


24  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

things  or  visible  nature  as  real  and  final  facts,  po 
etry,  or  the  imagination  which  dictates  it,  is  a  sec 
ond  sight,  looking  through  these,  and  using  them 
as  types  or  words  for  thoughts  which  they  signify. 
Or  is  this  belief  a  metaphysical  whim  of  modern 
times,  and  quite  too  refined  ?  On  the  contrary,  it 
is  as  old  as  the  human  mind.  Our  best  definition 
of  poetry  is  one  of  the  oldest  sentences,  and  claims 
to  come  down  to  us  from  the  Chaldean  Zoroaster, 
who  wrote  it  thus :  "  Poets  are  standing  trans 
porters,  whose  employment  consists  in  speaking  to 
the  Father  and  to  matter ;  in  producing  apparent 
imitations  of  unapparent  natures,  and  inscribing 
things  unapparent  in  the  apparent  fabrication  of 
the  world  ;  "  in  other  words,  the  world  exists  for 
thought :  it  is  to  make  appear  things  which  hide  : 
mountains,  crystals,  plants,  animals,  are  seen ;  that 
which  makes  them  is  not  seen :  these,  then,  are 
"  apparent  copies  of  unapparent  natures."  Bacon 
expressed  the  same  sense  in  his  definition,  "  Poetry 
accommodates  the  shows  of  things  to  the  desires 
of  the  mind  ;  "  and  Swedenborg,  when  he  said, 
"  There  is  nothing  existing  in  human  thought,  even 
though  relating  to  the  most  mysterious  tenet  of 
faith,  but  has  combined  with  it  a  natural  and  sen 
suous  image."  And  again  :  "  Names,  countries,  na 
tions,  and  the  like  are  not  at  all  known  to  those 
who  are  in  heaven  ;  they  have  no  idea  of  such 


IMAGINATION.  25 

things,  but  of  the  realities  signified  thereby."  A 
symbol  always  stimulates  the  intellect ;  therefore 
is  poetry  ever  the  best  reading.  The  very  design 
of  imagination  is  to  domesticate  us  in  another,  in  a 
celestial  nature. 

This  power  is  in  the  image  because  this  power  is 
in  nature.  It  so  affects,  because  it  so  is.  All  that 
is  wondrous  in  Swedenborg  is  not  his  invention, 
but  his  extraordinary  perception  ;  —  that  he  was 
necessitated  so  to  see.  The  world  realizes  the 
mind.  Better  than  images  is  seen  through  them. 
The  selection  of  the  image  is  no  more  arbitrary 
than  the  power  and  significance  of  the  image.  The 
selection  must  follow  fate.  Poetry,  if  perfected,  is 
the  only  verity ;  is  the  speech  of  man  after  the  real, 
and  not  after  the  apparent. 

Or  shall  we  say  that  the  imagination  exists  by 
sharing  the  ethereal  currents  ?  The  poet  contem 
plates  the  central  identity,  sees  it  undulate  and 
roll  this  way  and  that,  with  divine  Sowings,  through 
remotest  things ;  and,  following  it,  can  detect  es 
sential  resemblances  in  natures  never  before  com 
pared.  He  can  class  them  so  audaciously  because 
he  is  sensible  of  the  sweep  of  the  celestial  stream, 
from  which  nothing  is  exempt.  His  own  body  is  a 
fleeing  apparition,  —  his  personality  as  fugitive  as 
the  trope  he  employs.  In  certain  hours  we  can 
almost  pass  our  hand  through  our  own  body.  I 


26  POETRY  AND  IMA  GIN  A  TT  )N. 

think  the  use  or  value  of  poetry  to  be  the  sugges 
tion  it  affords  of  the  flux  or  fugaciousness  of  the 
poet.  The  mind  delights  in  measuring  itself  thus 
with  matter,  with  history,  and  flouting  both.  A 
thought,  any  thought,  pressed,  followed,  opened, 
dwarfs  matter,  custom,  and  all  but  itself.  But 
this  second  sight  does  not  necessarily  impair  the 
primary  or  common  sense.  Pindar,  and  Dante, 
yes,  and  the  gray  and  timeworn  sentences  of  Zoro 
aster,  may  all  be  parsed,  though  we  do  not  parse 
them.  The  poet  has  a  logic,  though  it  be  subtile. 
He  observes  higher  laws  than  he  transgresses. 
"  Poetry  must  first  be  good  sense,  though  it  is  some 
thing  better." 

This  union  of  first  and  second  sight  reads  nature 
to  the  end  of  delight  and  of  moral  use.  Men  are 
imaginative,  but  not  overpowered  by  it  to  the  ex 
tent  of  confounding  its  suggestions  with  exter 
nal  facts.  We  live  in  both  spheres,  and  must  not 
mix  them.  Genius  certifies  its  entire  possession  of 
its  thought,  by  translating  it  into  a  fact  which 
perfectly  represents  it,  and  is  hereby  education. 
Charles  James  Fox  thought  "  Poetry  the  great  re 
freshment  of  the  human  mind,  —  the  only  thing, 
after  all ;  that  men  first  found  out  they  had  minds, 
by  making  and  tasting  poetry." 

Man  runs  about  restless  and  in  pain  when  his 
condition  or  the  objects  about  him  do  not  fully 


IMAGINATION.  27 

match  his  thought.  He  wishes  to  be  rich,  to  be 
old,  to  be  young,  that  things  may  obey  him.  In 
the  ocean,  in  fire,  in  the  sky,  in  the  forest,  he  finds 
facts  adequate  and  as  large  as  he.  As  his  thoughts 
are  deeper  than  he  can  fathom,  so  also  are  these. 
It  is  easier  to  read  Sanscrit,  to  decipher  the  arrow 
head  character,  than  to  interpret  these  familiar 
sights.  It  is  even  much  to  name  them.  Thus 
Thomson's  "  Seasons  "  and  the  best  parts  of  many 
old  and  many  new  poets  are  simply  enumerations 
by  a  person  who  felt  the  beauty  of  the  common 
sights  and  sounds,  without  any  attempt  to  draw  a 
moral  or  affix  a  meaning. 

The  poet  discovers  that  what  men  value  as  sub 
stances  have  a  higher  value  as  symbols ;  that  Na 
ture  is  the  immense  shadow  of  man.  A  man's 
action  is  only  a  picture-book  of  his  creed.  He 
does  after  what  he  believes.  Your  condition,  your 
employment,  is  the  fable  of  you.  The  world  is 
thoroughly  anthropomorphized,  as  if  it  had  passed 
through  the  body  and  mind  of  man,  and  taken  his 
mould  and  form.  Indeed,  good  poetry  is  always 
personification,  and  heightens  every  species  of  force 
in  nature  by  giving  it  a  human  volition.  We  are 
advertised  that  there  is  nothing  to  which  man  is  not 
related;  that  everything  is  convertible  into  every 
other.  The  staff  in  his  hand  is  the  radius  vector 
of  the  sun.  The  chemistry  of  this  is  the  chemistry 


28  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

of  that.  Whatever  one  act  we  do,  whatever  one 
thing1  we  learn,  we  are  doing  and  learning  all 
things,  —  marching  in  the  direction  of  universal 
power.  Every  healthy  mind  is  a  true  Alexander 
or  Sesostris,  building  a  universal  monarchy. 

The  senses  imprison  us,  and  we  help  them  with 
metres  as  limitary,  —  with  a  pair  of  scales  and  a 
foot-rule  and  a  clock.  How  long  it  took  to  find 
out  what  a  day  was,  or  what  this  sun,  that  makes 
days !  It  cost  thousands  of  years  only  to  make  the 
motion  of  the  earth  suspected.  Slowly,  by  compar 
ing  thousands  of  observations,  there  dawned  on 
some  mind  a  theory  of  the  sun,  —  and  we  found 
the  astronomical  fact.  But  the  astronomy  is  in  the 
mind :  the  senses  affirm  that  the  earth  stands  still 
and  the  sun  moves.  The  senses  collect  the  surface 
facts  of  matter.  The  intellect  acts  on  these  brute 
reports,  and  obtains  from  them  results  which  are 
tha  essence  or  intellectual  form  of  the  experiences. 
It  compares,  distributes,  generalizes  and  uplifts 
them  into  its  own  sphere.  It  knows  that  these 
transfigured  results  are  not  the  brute  experiences, 
just  as  souls  in  heaven  are  not  the  red  bodies  they 
once  animated.  Many  transfigurations  have  be 
fallen  them.  The  atoms  of  the  body  were  once 
nebulae,  then  rock,  then  loam,  then  corn,  then 
chyme,  then  chyle,  then  blood ;  and  now  the  be 
holding  and  co-energizing  mind  sees  the  same  refin- 


IMAGINATION.  29 

ing  and  ascent  to  the  third,  the  seventh,  or  the 
tenth  power  of  the  daily  accidents  which  the  senses 
report,  and  which  make  the  raw  material  of  knowl 
edge.  It  was  sensation ;  when  memory  came,  it  was 
experience  ;  when  mind  acted,  it  was  knowledge ; 
when  mind  acted  on  it  as  knowledge,  it  was  thought. 
This  metonymy,  or  seeing  the  same  sense  in 
things  so  diverse,  gives  a  pure  pleasure.  Every 
one  of  a  million  times  we  find  a  charm  in  the  meta 
morphosis.  It  makes  us  dance  and  sing.  All  men 
are  so  far  poets.  When  people  tell  me  they  do  not 
relish  poetry,  and  bring  me  Shelley,  or  Aikin's 
Poets,  or  I  know  not  what  volumes  of  rhymed 
English,  to  show  that  it  has  no  charm,  I  ana  quite 
of  their  mind.  But  this  dislike  of  the  books  only 
proves  their  liking  of  poetry.  For  they  relish 
j3Dsop,  —  cannot  forget  him,  or  not  use  him  ;  bring 
them  Homer's  Iliad,  and  they  like  that  ;  or  the 
Cid,  and  that  rings  well ;  read  to  them  from  Chau 
cer,  and  they  reckon  him  an  honest  fellow.  Lear 
and  Macbeth  and  Kichard  III.  they  know  pretty 
well  without  guide.  Give  them  Robin  Hood's  bal 
lads  or  Griselda,  or  Sir  Andrew  Barton,  or  Sir  Pat 
rick  Spense,  or  Chevy  Chase,  or  Tarn  O'Shanter, 
and  they  like  these  well  enough.  They  like  to  see 
statues  ;  they  like  to  name  the  stars  ;  they  like  to 
talk  and  hear  of  Jove,  Apollo,  Minerva,  Venus, 
and  the  Nine.  See  how  tenacious  we  are  of  the 


30  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

old  names.  They  like  poetry  without  knowing  it 
as  such.  They  like  to  go  to  the  theatre  and  be 
made  to  weep ;  to  Faneuil  Hall,  and  be  taught  by 
Otis,  Webster,  or  Kossuth,  or  Phillips,  what  great 
hearts  they  have,  what  tears,  what  new  possible  en 
largements  to  their  narrow  horizons.  They  like  to 
see  sunsets  on  the  hills  or  on  a  lake  shore.  Now  a 
cow  does  not  gaze  at  the  rainbow,  or  show  or  affect 
any  interest  in  the  landscape,  or  a  peacock,  or  the 
song  of  thrushes. 

Nature  is  the  true  idealist.  When  she  serves  us 
best,  when,  on  rare  days,  she  speaks  to  the  imagi 
nation,  we  feel  that  the  huge  heaven  and  earth  are 
but  a  web  drawn  around  us,  that  the  light,  skies, 
and  mountains  are  but  the  painted  vicissitudes  of 
the  soul.  Who  has  heard  our  hymn  in  the  churches 
without  accepting  the  truth,  — 

"  As  o'er  our  heads  the  seasons  roll, 
And  soothe  with  change  of  bliss  the  soul  "  ? 

Of  course,  when  we  describe  man  as  poet,  and 
credit  him  with  the  triumphs  of  the  art,  we  speak 
of  the  potential  or  ideal  man,  —  not  found  now  in 
any  one  person.  You  must  go  through  a  city  or 
a  nation,  and  find  one  faculty  here,  one  there,  to 
build  the  true  poet  withal.  Yet  all  men  know  the 
portrait  when  it  is  drawn,  and  it  is  part  of  religion 
to  believe  its  possible  incarnation. 


IMAGINATION.  81 

He  is  the  healthy,  the  wise,  the  fundamental,  the 
manly  man,  seer  of  the  secret ;  against  all  the  ap 
pearance  he  sees  and  reports  the  truth,  namely  that 
the  soul  generates  matter.  And  poetry  is  the  only 
verity,  —  the  expression  of  a  sound  mind  speaking 
after  the  ideal,  and  not  after  the  apparent.  As  a 
power  it  is  the  perception  of  the  symbolic  charac 
ter  of  things,  and  the  treating  them  as  representa 
tive  :  as  a  talent  it  is  a  magnetic  tenaciousness  of 
an  image,  and  by  the  treatment  demonstrating  that 
this  pigment  of  thought  is  as  palpable  and  objective 
to  the  poet  as  is  the  ground  on  which  he  stands,  or 
the  walls  of  houses  about  him.  And  this  power 
appears  in  Dante  and  Shakspeare.  In  some  indi 
viduals  this  insight  or  second  sight  has  an  extraor 
dinary  reach  which  compels  our  wonder,  as  in  Beh- 
men,  Swedenborg,  and  William  Blake  the  painter. 

William  Blake,  whose  abnormal  genius,  Words 
worth  said,  interested  him  more  than  the  conver 
sation  of  Scott  or  of  Byron,  writes  thus :  "  He 
who  does  not  imagine  in  stronger  and  better  lin 
eaments  and  in  stronger  and  better  light  than 
his  perishing  mortal  eye  can  see,  does  not  imagine 
at  all.  The  painter  of  this  work  asserts  that  all 
his  imaginations  appear  to  him  infinitely  more  per 
fect  and  more  minutely  organized  than  anything 
seen  by  his  mortal  eye.  ...  I  assert  for  myself 
that  I  do  not  behold  the  outward  creation,  and  that 


32  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

to  me  it  would  be  a  hindrance,  and  not  action. 
I  question  not  my  corporeal  eye  any  more  than 
I  would  question  a  window  concerning  a  sight.  I 
look  through  it,  and  not  with  it." 

It  is  a  problem  of  metaphysics  to  define  the 
province  of  Fancy  and  Imagination.  The  words 
are  often  used,  and  the  things  confounded.  Im 
agination  respects  the  cause.  It  is  the  vision  of  an 
inspired  soul  reading  arguments  and  affirmations 
in  all  nature  of  that  which  it  is  driven  to  say.  But 
as  soon  as  this  soul  is  released  a  little  from  its  pas 
sion,  and  at  leisure  plays  with  the  resemblances  and 
types,  for  amusement,  and  not  for  its  moral  end, 
we  call  its  action  Fancy.  Lear,  mad  with  his  af 
fliction,  thinks  every  man  who  suffers  must  have 
the  like  cause  with  his  own.  "  What,  have  his 
daughters  brought  him  to  this  pass  ?"  But  when, 
his  attention  being  diverted,  his  mind  rests  from 
this  thought,  he  becomes  fanciful  with  Tom,  play 
ing  with  the  superficial  resemblances  of  objects. 
Banyan,  in  pain  for  his  soul,  wrote  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress  ;  "  Quarles,  after  he  was  quite  cool,  wrote 
"  Emblems." 

Imagination  is  central ;  fancy,  superficial.  Fancy 
relates  to  surface,  in  which  a  great  part  of  life  lies. 
The  lover  is  rightly  said  to  fancy  the  hair,  eyes, 
complexion  of  the  maid.  Fancy  is  a  wilful,  imag- 


VERACITY.  33 

ination  a  spontaneous  act ;  fancy,  a  play  as  with 
dolls  and  puppets  which  we  choose  to  call  men  and 
women;  imagination,  a  perception  and  affirming 
of  a  real  relation  between  a  thought  and  some  ma 
terial  fact.  Fancy  amuses;  imagination  expands 
and  exalts  us.  Imagination  uses  an  organic  classi 
fication.  Fancy  joins  by  accidental  resemblance, 
surprises  and  amuses  the  idle,  but  is  silent  in  the 
presence  of  great  passion  and  action.  Fancy  ag 
gregates  ;  imagination  animates.  Fancy  is  related 
to  color ;  imagination,  to  form.  Fancy  paints ;  im 
agination  sculptures. 

Veracity.  —  I  do  not  wish,  therefore,  to  find  that 
my  poet  is  not  partaker  of  the  feast  he  spreads,  or 
that  he  would  kindle  or  amuse  me  with  that  which 
does  not  kindle  or  amuse  him.  He  must  believe 
in  his  poetry.  Homer,  Milton,  Hafiz,  Herbert, 
Swedenborg,  Wordsworth,  are  heartily  enamored 
of  their  sweet  thoughts.  Moreover,  they  know  that 
this  correspondence  of  things  to  thoughts  is  far 
deeper  than  they  can  penetrate,  —  defying  adequate 
expression ;  that  it  is  elemental,  or  in  the  core  of 
things.  Veracity  therefore  is  that  which  we  re 
quire  in  poets,  —  that  they  shall  say  how  it  was 
with  them,  and  not  what  might  be  said.  And  the 
fault  of  our  popular  poetry  is  that  it  is  not  sincere. 
"What  news?"  asks  man  of  man  everywhere. 

VOL.    VIII.  3 


34  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

The  only  teller  of  news  is  the  poet.  When  he 
sings,  the  world  listens  with  the  assurance  that 
now  a  secret  of  God  is  to  be  spoken.  The  right 
poetic  mood  is  or  makes  a  more  complete  sensi 
bility,  piercing  the  outward  fact  to  the  meaning 
of  the  fact ;  shows  a  sharper  insight :  and  the  per 
ception  creates  the  strong  expression  of  it,  as  the 
man  who  sees  his  way  walks  in  it. 

It  is  a  rule  in  eloquence,  that  the  moment  the 
orator  loses  command  of  his  audience,  the  audience 
commands  him.  So  in  poetry,  the  master  rushes  to 
deliver  his  thought,  and  the  words  and  images  fly 
to  him  to  express  it ;  whilst  colder  moods  are  forced 
to  respect  the  ways  of  saying  it,  and  insinuate,  or, 
as  it  were,  muffle  the  fact  to  suit  the  poverty  or 
caprice  of  their  expression,  so  that  they  only  hint 
the  matter,  or  allude  to  it,  being  unable  to  fuse  and 
mould  their  words  and  images  to  fluid  obedience. 
See  how  Shakspeare  grapples  at  once  with  the 
main  problem  of  the  tragedy,  as  in  Lear  and  Mac 
beth,  and  the  opening  of  the  Merchant  of  Venice. 

All  writings  must  be  in  a  degree  exoteric,  written 
to  a  human  should  or  would,  instead  of  to  the  fatal 
is :  this  holds  even  of  the  bravest  and  sincerest 
writers.  Every  writer  is  a  skater,  and  must  go 
partly  where  he  would,  and  partly  where  the  skates 
carry  him ;  or  a  sailor,  who  can  only  land  where 
sails  can  be  blown.  And  yet  it  is  to  be  added  that 


VERACITY.  35 

high  poetry  exceeds  the  fact,  or  nature  itself,  just 
as  skates  allow  the  good  skater  far  more  grace  than 
his  best  walking  would  show,  or  sails  more  than 
riding.  The  poet  writes  from  a  real  experience, 
the  amateur  feigns  one.  Of  course  one  draws  the 
bow  with  his  fingers  and  the  other  with  the  strength 
of  his  body ;  one  speaks  with  his  lips  and  the  other 
with  a  chest  voice.  Talent  amuses,  but  if  your 
verse  has  not  a  necessary  and  autobiographic  basis, 
though  under  whatever  gay  poetic  veils,  it  shall  not 
waste  my  time. 

For  poetry  is  faith.  To  the  poet  the  world  is 
virgin  soil ;  all  is  practicable ;  the  men  are  ready 
for  virtue ;  it  is  always  time  to  do  right.  He  is  a 
true  re-commencer,  or  Adam  in  the  garden  again. 
He  affirms  the  applicability  of  the  ideal  law  to  this 
moment  and  the  present  knot  of  affairs.  Parties, 
lawyers  and  men  of  the  world  will  invariably  dis 
pute  such  an  application,  as  romantic  and  danger 
ous  :  they  admit  the  general  truth,  but  they  and 
their  affair  always  constitute  a  case  in  bar  of  the 
statute.  Free-trade,  they  concede,  is  very  well  as  a 
principle,  but  it  is  never  quite  the  time  for  its  adop 
tion  without  prejudicing  actual  interests.  Chas 
tity,  they  admit,  is  very  well,  —  but  then  think 
of  Mirabeau's  passion  and  temperament  I  Eternal 
laws  are  very  well,  which  admit  no  violation,  — 
but  so  extreme  were  the  times  and  manners  of 


36  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

mankind,  that  you  must  admit  miracles,  for  the 
times  constituted  a  case.  Of  course,  we  know 
what  you  say,  that  legends  are  found  in  all  tribes, 
—  but  this  legend  is  different.  And  so  throughout ; 
the  poet  affirms  the  laws,  prose  busies  itself  with 
exceptions,  —  with  the  local  and  individual. 

I  require  that  the  poem  should  impress  me  so 
that  after  I  have  shut  the  book  it  shall  recall  me 
to  itself,  or  that  passages  should.  And  inestimable 
is  the  criticism  of  memory  as  a  corrective  to  first 
impressions.  We  are  dazzled  at  first  by  new  words 
and  brilliancy  of  color,  which  occupy  the  fancy 
and  deceive  the  judgment.  But  all  this  is  easily 
forgotten.  Later,  the  thought,  the  happy  image 
which  expressed  it  and  which  was  a  true  experi 
ence  of  the  poet,  recurs  to  mind,  and  sends  me 
back  in  search  of  the  book.  And  I  wish  that  the 
poet  should  foresee  this  habit  of  readers,  and  omit 
all  but  the  important  passages.  Shakspeare  is 
made  up  of  important  passages,  like  Damascus 
steel  made  up  of  old  nails.  Homer  has  his  own, — 

"  One  omen  is  best,  to  fight  for  one's  country  ;  " 

and  again,  — • 

"They  heal  their  griefs,  for  curable  are  the  hearts  of  the 
noble." 

Write,  that  I  may  know  you.  Style  betrays  you, 
as  your  eyes  do.  We  detect  at  once  by  it  whether 


VERACITY.  37 

the  writer  has  a  firm  grasp  on  his  fact  or  thought, 
—  exists  at  the  moment  for  that  alone,  or  whether 
he  has  one  eye  apologizing,  deprecatory,  turned 
on  his  reader.  In  proportion  always  to  his  posses 
sion  of  his  thought  is  his  defiance  of  his  readers. 
There  is  no  choice  of  words  for  him  who  clearly 
sees  the  truth.  That  provides  him  with  the  best 
word. 

Great  design  belongs  to  a  poem,  and  is  better 
than  any  skill  of  execution,  —  but  how  rare  !  I  find 
it  in  the  poems  of  Wordsworth,  —  Laodamia,  and 
the  Ode  to  Dion,  and  the  plan  of  The  Recluse. 
We  want  design,  and  do  not  forgive  the  bards  if 
they  have  only  the  art  of  enamelling.  We  want  an 
architect,  and  they  bring  us  an  upholsterer. 

If  your  subject  do  not  appear  to  you  the  flower 
of  the  world  at  this  moment,  you  have  not  rightly 
chosen  it.  No  matter  what  it  is,  grand  or  gay, 
national  or  private,  if  it  has  a  natural  prominence 
to  you,  work  away  until  you  come  to  the  heart 
of  it :  then  it  will,  though  it  were  a  sparrow  or  a 
spider-web,  as  fully  represent  the  central  law  and 
draw  all  tragic  or  joyful  illustration,  as  if  it  were 
the  book  of  Genesis  or  the  book  of  Doom.  The 
subject  —  we  must  so  often  say  it  —  is  indifferent. 
Any  word,  every  word  in  language,  every  circum 
stance,  becomes  poetic  in  the  hands  of  a  higher 
thought. 


38  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

The  test  or  measure  of  poetic  genius  is  the  power 
to  read  the  poetry  of  affairs,  —  to  fuse  the  circum 
stance  of  to-day ;  not  to  use  Scott's  antique  super 
stitions,  or  Shakspeare's,  but  to  convert  those  of 
the  nineteenth  century  and  of  the  existing  nations 
into  universal  symbols.  'Tis  easy  to  repaint  the 
mythology  of  the  Greeks,  or  of  the  Catholic  Church, 
the  feudal  castle,  the  crusade,  the  martyrdoms  of 
mediaeval  Europe  ;  but  to  point  out  where  the 
same  creative  force  is  now  working  in  our  own 
houses  and  public  assemblies ;  to  convert  the  vivid 
energies  acting  at  this  hour  in  New  York  and  Chi 
cago  and  San  Francisco,  into  universal  symbols, 
requires  a  subtile  and  commanding  thought.  'T  is 
boyish  in  Swedenborg  to  cumber  himself  with  the 
dead  scurf  of  Hebrew  antiquity,  as  if  the  Divine 
creative  energy  had  fainted  in  his  own  century. 
American  life  storms  about  us  daily,  and  is  slow  to 
find  a  tongue.  This  contemporary  insight  is  tran- 
substantiation,  the  conversion  of  daily  bread  into 
the  holiest  symbols  ;  and  every  man  would  be  a 
poet  if  his  intellectual  digestion  were  perfect.  The 
test  of  the  poet  is  the  power  to  take  the  passing 
day,  with  its  news,  its  cares,  its  fears,  as  he  shares 
them,  and  hold  it  up  to  a  divine  reason,  till  ho 
sees  it  to  have  a  purpose  and  beauty,  and  to  be 
related  to  astronomy  and  history  and  the  eternal 
order  of  the  world.  Then  the  dry  twig  blossoms 
in  his  hand.  He  is  calmed  and  elevated. 


VERACITY.  \^         39 

The  use  of  "occasional  poems  "  is  to  give  leave.-. 
to  originality.  Every  one  delights  in  the  felicity 
frequently  shown  in  our  drawing-rooms.  In  a 
game-party  or  picnic  poem  each  writer  is  released 
from  the  solemn  rhythmic  traditions  which  alarm 
and  suffocate  his  fancy,  and  the  result  is  that  one 
of  the  partners  offers  a  poem  in  a  new  style  that 
hints  at  a  new  literature.  Yet  the  writer  holds  it 
cheap,  and  could  do  the  like  all  day.  On  the  stage, 
the  farce  is  commonly  far  better  given  than  the 
tragedy,  as  the  stock  actors  understand  the  farce, 
and  do  not  understand,  the  tragedy.  The  writer  in 
the  parlor  has  more  presence  of  mind,  more  wit  and 
fancy,  more  play  of  thought,  on  the  incidents  that 
occur  at  table  or  about  the  house,  than  in  the  poli 
tics  of  Germany  or  Rome.  Many  of  the  line  poems 
of  Herrick,  Jonson,  and  their  contemporaries  had 
this  casual  origin. 

I  know  there  is  entertainment  and  room  for  tal 
ent  in  the  artist's  selection  of  ancient  or  remote 
subjects  ;  as  when  the  poet  goes  to  India,  or  to 
Rome,  or  Persia,  for  his  fable.  But  I  believe  no 
body  knows  better  than  he  that  herein  he  consults 
his  ease  rather  than  his  strength  or  his  desire.  He 
is  very  well  convinced  that  the  great  moments  of 
life  are  those  in  which  his  own  house,  his  own  body, 
the  tritest  and  nearest  ways  and  words  and  things 
have  been  illuminated  into  prophets  and  teachers. 


40  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

What  else  is  it  to  be  a  poet  ?  What  are  his  gar 
land  and  singing-robes  ?  What  but  a  sensibility 
so  keen  that  the  scent  of  an  elder-blow,  or  the 
timber-yard  and  corporation-works  of  a  nest  of  pis 
mires  is  event  enough  for  him,  —  all  emblems  and 
personal  appeals  to  him.  His  wreath  and  robe  is 
to  do  what  he  enjoys  ;  emancipation  from  other 
men's  questions,  and  glad  study  of  his  own  ;  escape 
from  the  gossip  and  routine  of  society,  and  the  al 
lowed  right  and  practice  of  making  better.  He 
does  not  give  his  hand,  but  in  sign  of  giving  his 
heart ;  he  is  not  affable  with  all,  but  silent,  uncom 
mitted,  or  in  love,  as  his  heart  leads  him.  There 
is  no  subject  that  does  not  belong  to  him,  —  poli 
tics,  economy,  manufactures  and  stock-brokerage, 
as  much  as  sunsets  and  souls  ;  only,  these  things, 
placed  in  their  true  order,  are  poetry ;  displaced,  or 
put  in  kitchen  order,  they  are  unpoetic.  Malthus 
is  the  right  organ  of  the  English  proprietors  ;  but 
we  shall  never  understand  political  economy  until 
Burns  or  Beranger  or  some  poet  shall  teach  it  in 
songs,  and  he  will  not  teach  Malthusianism. 

Poetry  is  the  gai  science.  The  trait  and  test  of 
the  poet  is  that  he  builds,  adds,  and  affirms.  The 
critic  destroys:  the  poet  says  nothing  but  what 
helps  somebody;  let  others  be  distracted  with  cares, 
he  is  exempt.  All  their  pleasures  are  tinged  with 
pain.  All  his  pains  are  edged  with  pleasure.  The 


VERACITY.  41 

gladness  lie  imparts  he  shares.     As  one  of  the  old 
Minnesingers  sung,  — 

"  Oft  have  I  heard,  and  now  believe  it  true, 
Whom  man  delights  in,  God  delights  in  too." 

Poetry  is  the  consolation  of  mortal  men.  They 
live  cabined,  cribbed,  confined  in  a  narrow  and 
trivial  lot,  —  in  wants,  pains,  anxieties  and  super 
stitions,  in  profligate  politics,  in  personal  animosi 
ties,  in  mean  employments,  —  and  victims  of  these ; 
and  the  nobler  powers  untried,  unknown.  A  poet 
comes  who  lifts  the  veil ;  gives  them  glimpses  of 
the  laws  of  the  universe  ;  shows  them  the  circum 
stance  as  illusion ;  shows  that  nature  is  only  a 
language  to  express  the  laws,  which  are  grand  and 
beautiful ;  —  and  lets  them,  by  his  songs,  into  some 
of  the  realities.  Socrates,  the  Indian  teachers  of 
the  Maia,  the  Bibles  of  the  nations,  Shakspeare, 
Milton,  Hafiz,  Ossian,  the  Welsh  Bards; — these 
all  deal  with  nature  and  history  as  means  and  sym 
bols,  and  not  as  ends.  With  such  guides  they  be 
gin  to  see  that  what  they  had  called  pictures  are 
realities,  and  the  mean  life  is  pictures.  And  this 
is  achieved  by  words ;  for  it  is  a  few  oracles 
spoken  by  perceiving  men  that  are  the  texts  011 
which  religions  and  states  are  founded.  And  this 
perception  has  at  once  its  moral  sequence.  Ben 
Jonson  said,  "  The  principal  end  of  poetry  is  to  in 
form  men  in  the  just  reason  of  living." 


42  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION, 

Creation.  —  But  there  is  a  third  step  which  po 
etry  takes,  and  which  seems  higher  than  the  others, 
namely,  creation,  or  ideas  taking  forms  of  their 
own,  —  when  the  poet  invents  the  fable,  and  in 
vents  the  language  which  his  heroes  speak.  He 
reads  in  the  word  or  action  of  the  man  its  yet  un 
told  results.  His  inspiration  is  power  to  carry  out 
and  complete  the  metamorphosis,  which,  in  the  im 
perfect  kinds  arrested  for  ages,  in  the  perfected 
proceeds  rapidly  in  the  same  individual.  For  po 
etry  is  science,  and  the  poet  a  truer  logician.  Men 
in  the  courts  or  in  the  street  think  themselves  log 
ical  and  the  poet  whimsical.  Do  they  think  there 
is  chance  or  wilf  ulness  in  what  he  sees  and  tells  ? 
To  be  sure,  we  demand  of  him  what  he  demands  of 
himself,  —  veracity,  first  of  all.  But  writh  that,  he 
is  the  lawgiver,  as  being  an  exact  reporter  of  the 
essential  law.  He  knows  that  he  did  not  make  his 
thought,  —  no,  his  thought  made  him,  and  made 
the  sun  and  the  stars.  Is  the  solar  system  good 
art  and  architecture?  the  same  wise  achievement  is 
in  the  human  brain  also,  can  you  only  wile  it  from 
interference  and  marring.  We  cannot  look  at 
works  of  art  but  they  teach  us  how  near  man  is  to 
creating.  Michel  Aiigelo  is  largely  filled  with  tlio 
Creator  that  made  and  makes  men.  How  much  of 
the  original  craft  remains  in  him,  and  he  a  mortal 
man !  In  him  and  the  like  perf  ecter  brains  the  in- 


CREATION.  43 

stinct  is  resistless,  knows  the  right  way,  is  melodi 
ous,  and  at  all  points  divine.  The  reason  we  set 
so  high  a  value  on  any  poetry,  —  as  often  on  a  line 
or  a  phrase  as  on  a  poem,  —  is  that  it  is  a  new  work 
of  Nature,  as  a  man  is.  It  must  be  as  new  as  foam 
and  as  old  as  the  rock.  But  a  new  verse  comes 
once  in  a  hundred  years ;  therefore  Pindar,  Hafiz, 
Dante,  speak  so  proudly  of  what  seems  to  the  clown 
a  jingle. 

The  writer,  like  the  priest,  must  be  exempted 
from  secular  labor.  His  work  needs  a  frolic  health ; 
he  must  be  at  the  top  of  his  condition.  In  that 
prosperity  he  is  sometimes  caught  up  into  a  per 
ception  of  means  and  materials,  of  feats  and  fine 
arts,  of  fairy  machineries  and  funds,  of  power  hith 
erto  utterly  unknown  to  him,  whereby  he  can  trans 
fer  his  visions  to  mortal  canvas,  or  reduce  them 
into  iambic  or  trochaic,  into  lyric  or  heroic  rhyme. 
These  successes  are  not  less  admirable  and  aston 
ishing  to  the  poet  than  they  are  to  his  audience. 
He  has  seen  something  which  all  the  mathematics 
and  the  best  industry  could  never  bring  him  unto. 
Now  at  this  rare  elevation  above  his  usual  sphere, 
he  has  come  into  new  circulations,  the  marrow  of 
the  world  is  in  his  bones,  the  opulence  of  forms  be 
gins  to  pour  into  his  intellect,  and  he  is  permitted 
to  dip  his  brush  into  the  old  paint-pot  with  which 
birds,  flowers,  the  human  cheek,  the  living  rock, 


44  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

the  broad  landscape,  the  ocean  and  the  eternal  sky 
were  painted. 

These  fine  fruits  of  judgment,  poesy,  and  senti 
ment,  when  once  their  hour  is  struck,  and  the  world 
is  ripe  for  them,  know  as  well  as  coarser  how  to 
feed  and  replenish  themselves,  and  maintain  their 
stock  alive,  and  multiply ;  for  roses  and  violets 
renew  their  race  like  oaks,  and  flights  of  painted 
moths  are  as  old  as  the  Alleghanies.  The  balance 
of  the  world  is  kept,  and  dewdrop  and  haze  and  the 
pencil  of  light  are  as  long-lived  as  chaos  and  dark 
ness. 

Our  science  is  always  abreast  of  our  self-knowl 
edge.  Poetry  begins,  or  all  becomes  poetry,  when 
we  look  from  the  centre  outward,  and  are  using  all 
as  if  the  mind  made  it.  That  only  can  we  see 
which  we  are,  and  which  we  make.  The  weaver 
sees  gingham ;  the  broker  sees  the  stock-list ;  the 
politician,  the  ward  and  county  votes ;  the  poet 
sees  the  horizon,  and  the  shores  of  matter  lying  on 
the  sky,  the  interaction  of  the  elements,  —  the  large 
effect  of  laws  which  correspond  to  the  inward  laws 
which  he  knows,  and  so  are  but  a  kind  of  extension 
of  himself.  "  The  attractions  are  proportional  to 
the  destinies."  Events  or  things  are  only  the  ful 
filment  of  the  prediction  of  the  faculties.  Better 
men  saw  heavens  and  earths ;  saw  noble  instruments 
of  noble  souls.  We  see  railroads,  mills,  and  banks, 


CREATION.  45 

and  we  pity  the  poverty  of  these  dreaming  Bud 
dhists.  There  was  ar  much  creative  force  then  as 
now,  but  it  made  globes  and  astronomic  heavens, 
instead  of  broadcloth  and  wine-glasses. 

The  poet  is  enamored  of  thoughts  and  laws. 
These  know  their  way,  and,  guided  by  them,  he 
is  ascending  from  an  interest  in  visible  things  to 
an  interest  in  that  which  they  signify,  and  from 
the  part  of  a  spectator  to  the  part  of  a  maker. 
And  as  everything  streams  and  advances,  as  every 
faculty  and  every  desire  is  procreant,  and  every 
perception  is  a  destiny,  there  is  no  limit  to  his 
hope.  "  Anything,  child,  that  the  mind  covets, 
from  the  milk  of  a  cocoa  to  the  throne  of  the 
three  worlds,  thou  mayest  obtain-,  by  keeping  the 
law  of  thy  members  and  the  law  of  thy  mind." 
It  suggests  that  there  is  higher  poetry  than  we 
write  or  read. 

Rightly,  poetry  is  organic.  We  cannot  know 
things  by  words  and  writing,  but  only  by  taking 
a  central  position  in  the  universe  and  living  in  its 
forms.  We  sink  to  rise :  — 

"  None  any  work  can  frame, 
Unless  himself  become  the  same. " 

All  the  parts  and  forms  of  nature  are  the  expres 
sion  or  production  of  divine  faculties,  and  the  same 
are  in  us.  And  the  fascination  of  genius  for  us  is 
this  awful  nearness  to  Nature's  creations. 


46  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

I  have  heard  that  the  Germans  think  the  creator 
of  Trim  and  Uncle  Toby,  though  he  never  wrote  a 
verse,  a  greater  poet  than  Cowper,  and  that  Gold 
smith's  title  to  the  name  is  not  from  his  Deserted 
Village,  but  derived  from  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield. 
Better  examples  are  Shakspeare's  Ariel,  his  Cali 
ban,  and  his  fairies  in  the  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream.  Barthold  Niebuhr  said  well,  "  There  is 
little  merit  in  inventing  a  happy  idea  or  attractive 
situation,  so  long  as  it  is  only  the  author's  voice 
which  we  hear.  As  a  being  whom  we  have  called 
into  life  by  magic  arts,  as  soon  as  it  has  received 
existence  acts  independently  of  the  master's  im 
pulse,  so  the  poet  creates  his  persons,  and  then 
watches  and  relates  what  they  do  and  say.  Such 
creation  is  poetry,  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  term, 
and  its  possibility  is  an  unfathomable  enigma. 
The  gushing  fulness  of  speech  belongs  to  the 
poet,  and  it  flows  from  the  lips  of  each  of  his 
magic  beings  in  the  thoughts  and  words  peculiar 
to  its  nature."1 

This  force  of  representation  so  plants  his  fig 
ures  before  him  that  he  treats  them  as  real  ; 
talks  to  them  as  if  they  were  bodily  there  ;  puts 
words  in  their  mouth  such  as  they  should  have 
spoken,  and  is  affected  by  them  as  by  persons. 
Vast  is  the  difference  between  writing  clean  verses 

1  Niebuhr,  Letters,  etc.,  vol.  iii.  p.  196. 


MELODY,  RHYME,  FORM.  47 

for  magazines,  and  creating  these  new  persons  and 
situations, — new  language  with  emphasis  and  re 
ality.  The  humor  of  Falstaff,  the  terror  of  Mac 
beth,  have  each  their  swarm  of  fit  thoughts  and 
images,  as  if  Shakspeare  had  known  and  reported 
the  men,  instead  of  inventing  them  at  his  desk. 
This  power  appears  not  only  in  the  outline  or 
portrait  of  his  actors,  but  also  in  the  bearing  and 
behavior  and  style  of  each  individual.  Ben  Jon- 
son  told  Drummond  that  "  Sidney  did  not  keep  a 
decorum  in  making  every  one  speak  as  well  as 
himself." 

We  all  have  one  key  to  this  miracle  of  the  poet, 
and  the  dunce  has  experiences  that  may  explain 
Shakspeare  to  him,  —  one  key,  namely,  dreams. 
In  dreams  we  are  true  poets;  we  create  the  per 
sons  of  the  drama ;  we  give  them  appropriate  fig 
ures,  faces,  costume ;  they  are  perfect  in  their 
organs,  attitude,  manners :  moreover  they  speak 
after  their  own  characters,  not  ours ;  —  they  speak 
to  us,  and  we  listen  with  surprise  to  what  they  say. 
Indeed,  I  doubt  if  the  best  poet  has  yet  written 
any  five-act  play  that  can  compare  in  thoroughness 
of  invention  with  this  unwritten  play  in  fifty  acts, 
composed  by  the  dullest  snorer  on  the  floor  of  the 
watch-house. 

Melody^  Hhyme,  Form.  —  Music  and  rhyme  are 


48  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

among  the  earliest  pleasures  of  the  child,  and,  in 
the  history  of  literature,  poetry  precedes  prose. 
Every  one  may  see,  as  he  rides  on  the  highway 
through  an  uninteresting  landscape,  how  a  little 
water  instantly  relieves  the  monotony :  no  matter 
what  objects  are  near  it,  —  a  gray  rock,  a  grass- 
patch,  an  alder-bush,  or  a  stake,  —  they  become 
beautiful  by  being  reflected.  It  is  rhyme  to  the 
eye,  and  explains  the  charm  of  rhyme  to  the  ear. 
Shadows  please  us  as  still  finer  rhymes.  Archi 
tecture  gives  the  like  pleasure  by  the  repetition  of 
equal  parts  in  a  colonnade,  in  a  row  of  windows,  or 
in  wings ;  gardens  by  the  symmetric  contrasts  of 
the  beds  and  walks.  In  society  you  have  this  figure 
in  a  bridal  company,  where  a  choir  of  white-robed 
maidens  give  the  charm  of  living  statues ;  in  a  fu 
neral  procession,  where  all  wear  black ;  in  a  regi 
ment  of  soldiers  in  uniform. 

The  universality  of  this  taste  is  proved  by  our 
habit  of  casting  our  facts  into  rhyme  to  remember 
them  better,  as  so  many  proverbs  may  show.  Who 
would  hold  the  order  of  the  almanac  so  fast  but  for 
the  ding-dong, 

"  Thirty  days  hath  September,"  etc. ; 
or  of  the  Zodiac,  but  for 

"  The  Ram,  the  Bull,  the  heavenly  Twins,"  etc.  ? 

We  are  lovers  of  rhyme  and  return,  period  and 


MELODY,  RHYME,  FORM.          ^     49 

musical  reflection.  The  babe  is  lulled  to  slee] 
the  nurse's  song.  Sailors  can  work  better  for  their' 
yo-heave-o.  Soldiers  can  march  better  and  fight 
better  for  the  drum  and  trumpet.  Metre  begins 
with  pulse-beat,  and  the  length  of  lines  in  songs 
and  poems  is  determined  by  the  inhalation  and  ex 
halation  of  the  lungs.  If  you  hum  or  whistle  the 
rhythm  of  the  common  English  metres,  —  of  the 
decasyllabic  quatrain,  or  the  octosyllabic  with  al 
ternate  sexisyllabic,  or  other  rhythms,  —  you  can 
easily  believe  these  metres  to  be  organic,  derived 
from  the  human  pulse,  and  to  be  therefore  not 
proper  to  one  nation,  but  to  mankind.  I  think  you 
will  also  find  a  charm  heroic,  plaintive,  pathetic,  in 
these  cadences,  and  be  at  once  set  on  searching  for 
the  words  that  can  rightly  fill  these  vacant  beats. 
Young  people  like  rhyme,  drum-beat,  tune,  things 
in  pairs  and  alternatives  ;  and,  in  higher  degrees, 
we  know  the  instant  power  of  music  upon  our  tem 
peraments  to  change  our  mood,  and  give  us  its  own; 
and  human  passion,  seizing  these  constitutional 
tunes,  aims  to  fill  them  with  appropriate  words,  or 
marry  music  to  thought,  believing,  as  we  believe  of 
all  marriage,  that  matches  are  made  in  heaven,  and 
that  for  every  thought  its  proper  melody  or  rhyme 
exists,  though  the  odds  are  immense  against  our 
finding  it,  and  only  genius  can  rightly  say  the 
banns. 

VOL.   VIII.  4 


50  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

Another  form  of  rhyme  is  iterations  of  phrase,  as 
the  record  of  the  death  of  Sisera  :  — 

"  A.t  her  feet  he  howed,  he  fell,  he  lay  down  :  at  her 
feet  he  howed,  he  fell :  where  he  bowed,  there  he  fell 
down  dead." 

The  fact  is  made  conspicuous,  nay,  colossal,  by 
this  simple  rhetoric  :  — 

"  They  shall  perish,  but  thou  shalt  endure  :  yea,  all 
of  them  shall  wax  old  like  a  garment ;  as  a  vesture  shalt 
thou  change  them,  and  they  shall  be  changed  :  but  thou 
art  the  same,  and  thy  years  shall  have  no  end." 

Milton  delights  in  these  iterations  :  — 

"  Though  fallen  on  evil  days, 
On  evil  days  though  fallen,  and  evil  tongues." 

"  Was  I  deceived,  or  did  a  sable  cloud 
Turn  forth  its  silver  lining  on  the  night  ? 
1  did  not  err,  there  does  a  sable  cloud 
Turn  forth  its  silver  lining  on  the  night." 

Comus. 

"A  little  onward  lend  thy  guiding  hand, 
To  these  dark  steps  a  little  farther  on." 

Samson. 

So  in  our  songs  and  ballads  the  refrain  skilfully 
used,  and  deriving  some  novelty  or  better  sense  in 
each  of  many  verses  :  — 

"  Busk  thee,  busk  thee,  my  bonny  bonny  bride, 
Busk  thee,  busk  thee,  my  winsome  marrow." 

HAMILTON. 


MELODY,  RHYME,  FORM.  51 

Of  course  rhyme  soars  and  refines  with  the  growth 
of  the  mind.  The  boy  liked  the  drum,  the  people 
liked  an  overpowering  jewsharp  time.  Later  they 
like  to  transfer  that  rhyme  to  life,  and  to  detect  a 
melody  as  prompt  and  perfect  in  their  daily  affairs. 
Omen  and  coincidence  show  the  rhythmical  struc 
ture  of  man ;  hence  the  taste  for  signs,  sortilege, 
prophecy  and  fulfilment,  anniversaries,  etc.  By 
and  by,  when  they  apprehend  real  rhymes,  namely, 
the  correspondence  of  parts  in  nature,  —  acid  and 
alkali,  body  and  mind,  man  and  maid,  character 
and  history,  action  and  reaction,  —  they  do  not 
longer  value  rattles  and  ding-dongs,  or  barbaric 
word-jingle.  Astronomy,  Botany,  Chemistry,  Hy 
draulics  and  the  elemental  forces  have  their  own 
periods  and  returns,  their  own  grand  strains  of  har 
mony  not  less  exact,  up  to  the  primeval  apothegm 
that  "  there  is  nothing  on  earth  which  is  not  in  the 
heavens  in  a  heavenly  form,  and  nothing  in  the 
heavens  which  is  not  on  the  earth  in  an  earthly 
form."  They  furnish  the  poet  with  grander  pairs 
and  alternations,  and  will  require  an  equal  expan 
sion  in  his  metres. 

There  is  under  the  seeming  poverty  of  metres  an 
infinite  variety,  as  every  artist  knows.  A  right  ode 
(however  nearly  it  may  adopt  conventional  metre, 
as  the  Spenserian,  or  the  heroic  blank-verse,  or  one 
of  the  fixed  lyric  metres)  will  by  any  sprightliness 


52  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

be  at  once  lifted  out  of  conventionality,  and  will 
modify  the  metre.  Every  good  poem  that  I  know 
I  recall  by  its  rhythm  also.  Rhyme  is  a  pretty 
good  measure  of  the  latitude  and  opulence  of  a 
writer.  If  unskilful,  he  is  at  once  detected  by  the 
poverty  of  his  chimes.  A  small,  well-worn,  sprucely 
brushed  vocabulary  serves  him.  Now  try  Spenser, 
Marlow,  Chapman,  and  see  how  wide  they  fly  for 
weapons,  and  how  rich  and  lavish  their  profusion. 
In  their  rhythm  is  no  manufacture,  but  a  vortex,  or 
musical  tornado,  which  falling  on  words  and  the 
experience  of  a  learned  mind,  whirls  these  mate 
rials  into  the  same  grand  order  as  planets  and 
moons  obey,  and  seasons,  and  monsoons. 

There  are  also  prose  poets.  Thomas  Taylor,  the 
Platonist,  for  instance,  is  really  a  better  man  of 
imagination,  a  -better  poet,  or  perhaps  I  should  say 
a  better  feeder  to  a  poet,  than  any  man  between 
Milton  and  Wordsworth.  Thomas  Moore  had  the 
magnanimity  to  say,  "  If  Burke  and  Bacon  were  not 
poets  (measured  lines  not  being  necessary  to  con 
stitute  one),  he  did  not  know  what  poetry  meant." 
And  every  good  reader  will  easily  recall  expressions 
or  passages  in  works  of  pure  science  which  have 
given  him  the  same  pleasure  which  he  seeks  in  pro 
fessed  poets.  Richard  Owen,  the  eminent  paleon 
tologist,  said :  — 

"All  hitherto  observed   causes   of  extirpation  point 


MELODY,  RHYME,  FORM.  53 

either  to  continuous  slowly  operating  geologic  changes, 
or  to  no  greater  sudden  cause  than  the,  so  to  speak, 
spectral  appearance  of  mankind  on  a  limited  tract  of 
land  not  before  inhabited." 

St.  Augustine  complains  to  God  of  his  friends 
offering  him  the  books  of  the  philosophers  :. — 

"And  these  were  the  dishes  in  which  they  brought 
to  me,  being  hungry,  the  Sun  and  the  Moon  instead  of 
Thee." 

It  would  not  be  easy  to  refuse  to  Sir  Thomas 
Browne's  "  Fragments  on  Mummies  "  the  claim  of 
poetry :  — 

"  Of  their  living  habitations  they  made  little  account, 
conceiving  them  but  as  hospitia,  or  inns,  while  they 
adorned  the  sepulchres  of  the  dead,  and,  planting  there 
on  lasting  bases,  defied  the  crumbling  touches  of  time, 
and  the  misty  vaporousness  of  oblivion.  Yet  all  were 
but  Babel  vanities.  Time  sadly  overcometh  all  things, 
and  is  now  dominant  and  sitteth  upon  a  Sphinx,  and 
looketh  unto  Memphis  and  old  Thebes,  while  his  sister 
Oblivion  reclineth  semi-somnous  on  a  pyramid,  gloriously 
triumphing,  making  puzzles  of  Titanian  erections,  and 
turning  old  glories  into  dreams.  History  sinketh  be 
neath  her  cloud.  The  traveller  as  he  paceth  through 
those  deserts  asketh  of  her,  Who  builded  them?  and 
she  mumbleth  something,  but  what  it  is  he  heareth  not." 

Rhyme,  being  a  kind  of  music,  shares  this  advan- 


54  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

tage  with  music,  that  it  has  a  privilege  of  speaking 
truth  which  all  Philistia  is  unable  to  challenge. 
Music  is  the  poor  man's  Parnassus.  With  the  first 
note  of  the  flute  or  horn,  or  the  first  strain  of  a 
song,  we  quit  the  world  of  common-sense  and  launch 
on  the  sea  of  ideas  and  emotions :  we  pour  contempt 
on  the  prose  you  so  magnify ;  yet  the  sturdiest 
Philistine  is  silent.  The  like  allowance  is  the  pre 
scriptive  right  of  poetry.  You  shall  not  speak  ideal 
truth  in  prose  uncontradicted :  you  may  in  verse. 
The  best  thoughts  run  into  the  best  words ;  imagi- 
and  affectionate  thoughts  into  music  and 
metre.  We  ask  for  food  and  fire,  we  talk  of  our 
work,  our  tools  and  material  necessities,  in  prose  ; 
that  is,  without  any  elevation  or  aim  at  beauty ;  but 
when  we  rise  into  the  world  of  thought,  and  think 
of  these  things  only  for  what  they  signify,  speech 
refines  into  order  and  harmony.  I  know  what  you 
say  of  medieval  barbarism  and  sleighbell  -  rhyme, 
but  we  have  not  done  with  music,  no,  nor  with 
rhyme,  nor  must  console  ourselves  with  prose  poets 
so  long  as  boys  whistle  and  girls  sing. 

Let  Poetry  then  pass,  if  it  will,  into  music  and 
rhyme.  That  is  the  form  which  itself  puts  on. 
We  do  not  enclose  watches  in  wooden,  but  in  crys 
tal  cases,  and  rhyme  is  the  transparent  frame  that 
allows  almost  the  pure  architecture  of  thought  to 
become  visible  to  the  mental  eye.  Substance  is 


MELODY,  RHYME,  FORM.  55 

much,  but  so  are  mode  and  form  much.  The  poet, 
like  a  delighted  boy,  brings  you  heaps  of  rainbow 
bubbles,  opaline,  air-born,  spherical  as  the  world, 
instead  of  a  few  drops  of  soap  and  water.  Victor 
Hugo  says  well,  "  An  idea  steeped  in  verse  becomes 
suddenly  more  incisive  and  more  brilliant :  the  iron 
becomes  steel."  Lord  Bacon,  we  are  told,  "  loved 
not  to  see  poesy  go  on  other  feet  than  poetical 
dactyls  and  spondees  ;  "  and  Ben  Jonson  said  that 
"  Donne,  for  not  keeping  of  accent,  deserved  hang- 
ing." 

Poetry  being  an  attempt  to  express,  not  the  com 
mon-sense,  —  as  the  avoirdupois  of  the  hero,  or  his 
structure  in  feet  and  inches,  —  but  the  beauty  and 
soul  in  his  aspect  as  it  shines  to  fancy  and  feeling ; 
and  so  of  all  other  objects  in  nature;  runs  into 
fable,  personifies  every  fact :  —  "  the  clouds  clapped 
their  hands,"  —  "  the  hills  skipped,"  —  "  the  sky 
spoke."  This  is  the  substance,  and  this  treatment 
always  attempts  a  metrical  grace.  Outside  of  the 
nursery  the  beginning  of  literature  is  the  prayers 
of  a  people,  and  they  are  always  hymns,  poetic,  — 
the  mind  allowing  itself  range,  and  therewith  is 
ever  a  corresponding  freedom  in  the  style,  which 
becomes  lyrical.  The  prayers  of  nations  are  rhyth 
mic,  have  iterations  and  alliterations  like  the  mar 
riage-service  and  burial-service  in  our  liturgies. 

Poetry  will  never  be  a  simple  means,  as  when 


56  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION: 

history  or  philosophy  1.1  rhymed,  or  laureate  odes 
on  state  occasions  are  written.  Itself  must  be  its 
own  end,  or  it  is  nothing.  The  difference  between 
poetry  and  stock  poetry  is  this,  that  in  the  latter 
the  rhythm  is  given  and  the  sense  adapted  to  it ; 
while  in  the  former  the  sense  dictates  the  rhythm, 
I  might  even  say  that  the  rhyme  is  there  in  the 
theme,  thought,  and  image  themselves.  Ask  the 
fact  for  the  form.  For  a  verse  is  not  a  vehicle  to 
carry  a  sentence  as  a  jewel  is  carried  in  a  case :  the 
verse  must  be  alive,  and  inseparable  from  its  con 
tents,  as  the  soul  of  man  inspires  and  directs  the 
body,  and  we  measure  the  inspiration  by  the  music. 
In  reading  prose,  I  am  sensitive  as  soon  as  a  sen 
tence  drags;  but  in  poetry,  as  soon  as  one  word 
drags.  Ever  as  the  thought  mounts,  the  expression 
mounts.  'T  is  cumulative  also  ;  the  poem  is  made 
up  of  lines  each  of  which  fill  the  ear  of  the  poet 
in  its  turn,  so  that  mere  synthesis  produces  a  work 
quite  superhuman. 

Indeed,  the  masters  sometimes  rise  above  them 
selves  to  strains  which  charm  their  readers,  and 
which  neither  any  competitor  could  outdo,  nor  the 
bard  himself  again  equal.  Try  this  strain  of  Beau 
mont  and  Fletcher :  — 

"  Hence,  all  ye  vain  delights, 
As  short  as  are  the  nights 
In  which  you  spend  your  folly  ! 


MELODY,  RHYME,  FORM.  57 

There 's  naught  in  this  life  sweet, 

If  men  were  wise  to  see  't, 

But  only  melancholy. 

Oh  !  sweetest  melancholy  ! 

Welcome,  folded  arms  and  fixed  eyes, 

A  sigh  that  piercing  mortifies, 

A  look  that 's  fastened  on  the  ground, 

A  tongue  chained  up  without  a  sound  ; 

Fountain-heads  and  pathless  groves, 

Places  which  pale  Passion  loves, 

Midnight  walks,  when  all  the  fowls 

Are  warmly  housed,  save  bats  and  owls  ; 

A  midnight  bell,  a  passing  groan, 

These  are  the  sounds  we  feed  upon, 

Then  stretch  our  bones  in  a  still,  gloomy  valley. 

Nothing 's  so  dainty  sweet  as  lovely  melancholy." 

Keats  disclosed  by  certain  lines  in  his  "  Hyperion  " 
this  inward  skill ;  and  Coleridge  showed  at  least 
his  love  and  appetency  for  it.  It  appears  in  Ben 
Jonson's  songs,  including  certainly  "  The  faery 
beam  upon  you,"  etc.,  Waller's  "  Go,  lovely  rose !  " 
Herbert's  "  Virtue  "  and  "  Easter,"  and  Lovelace's 
lines  "  To  Althea  "  and  "  To  Lucasta,"  and  Collins's 
"  Ode  to  Evening,"  all  but  the  last  verse,  which  is 
academical.  Perhaps  this  dainty  style  of  poetry 
is  not  producible  to-day,  any  more  than  a  right 
Gothic  cathedral.  It  belonged  to  a  time  and  taste 
which  is  not  in  the  world. 

As  the  imagination  is  not  a  talent  of  some  men 
but  is  the  health  of  every  man,  so  also  is  this  j 


58  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

of  musical  expression.  I  know  the  pride  of  mathe 
maticians  and  materialists,  but  they  cannot  conceal 
from  me  their  capital  want.  The  critic,  the  philos 
opher,  is  a  failed  poet.  Gray  avows  that  "he  thinks 
even  a  bad  verse  as  good  a  thing  or  better  than 
the  best  observation  that  was  ever  made  on  it."  I 
honor  the  naturalist ;  I  honor  the  geometer,  but  he 
has  before  him  higher  power  and  happiness  than  he 
knows.  Yet  we  will  leave  to  the  masters  their  own 
forms.  Newton  may  be  permitted  to  call  Terence  a 
play-book,  and  to  wonder  at  the  frivolous  taste  for 
rhymers  ;  he  only  predicts,  one  would  say,  a  grander 
poetry :  he  only  shows  that  he  is  not  yet  reached ; 
that  the  poetry  which  satisfies  more  youthful  souls 
is  not  such  to  a  mind  like  his,  accustomed  to  grander 
harmonies ;  —  this  being  a  child's  whistle  to  his  ear ; 
that  the  music  must  rise  to  a  loftier  strain,  up  to 
Handel,  up  to  Beethoven,  up  to  the  thorough-base  of 
the  sea-shore,  up  to  the  largeness  of  astronomy :  at 
last  that  great  heart  will  hear  in  the  music  beats  like 
its  own  ;  the  waves  of  melody  will  wash  and  float 
him  also,  and  set  him  into  concert  and  harmony. 

Bards  and  Trouveurs.  —  The  metallic  force  of 
primitive  words  makes  the  superiority  of  the  re 
mains  of  the  rude  ages.  It  costs  the  early  bard  lit 
tle  talent  to  chant  more  impressively  than  the  later, 
more  cultivated  poets.  His  advantage  is  that  his 


BARDS  AND  TROUVEURS.  59 

words  are  things,  each  the  lucky  sound  which  de 
scribed  the  fact,  and  we  listen  to  him  as  we  do  to 
the  Indian,  or  the  hunter,  or  miner,  each  of  whom 
represents  his  facts  as  accurately  as  the  cry  of  the 
wolf  or  the  eagle  tells  of  the  forest  or  the  air  they 
inhabit.  The  original  force,  the  direct  smell  of  the 
earth  or  the  sea,  is  in  these  ancient  poems,  the 
Sagas  of  the  North,  the  Nibelungen  Lied,  the  songs 
and  ballads  of  the  English  and  Scotch. 

I  find  or  fancy  more  true  poetry,  the  love  of  the 
vast  and  the  ideal,  in  the  Welsh  and  bardic  frag 
ments  of  Taliessin  and  his  successors,  than  in  many 
volumes  of  British  Classics.  An  intrepid  magnilo 
quence  appears  in  all  the  bards,  as :  — 

"  The  whole  ocean  flamed  as  one  wound." 

King  Regnar  Lodbrok. 

"God  himself  cannot  procure  good  for  the  wicked." 

Welsh  Triad. 

A  favorable  specimen  is  Taliessin' s  "  Invocation 
of  the  Wind  "  at  the  door  of  Castle  Teganwy :  — 

"  Discover  thou  what  it  is,  — 
The  strong  creature  from  before  the  flood, 
Without  flesh,  without  bone,  without  head,  without  feet, 
It  will  neither  be  younger  nor  older  than  at  the  beginning  ; 
It  has  no  fear,  nor  the  rude  wants  of  created  tilings. 
Great  God  !  how  the  sea  whitens  when  it  conies  ! 
It  is  in  the  field,  it  is  in  the  wood, 
Without  hand,  without  foot, 
Without  age,  without  season, 


60  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

It  is  always  of  the  same  age  with  the  ages  of  ages, 

And  of  equal  breadth  with  the  surface  of  the  earth. 

It  was  not  born,  it  sees  not, 

And  is  not  seen  ;  it  does  not  come  when  desired  ; 

It  has  no  form,  it  bears  no  burden, 

For  it  is  void  of  sin. 

It  makes  no  perturbation  in  the  place  where  God  wills  it, 

On  the  sea,  on  the  land." 

In  one  of  his  poems  lie  asks  :  — • 
"  Is  there  but  one  course  to  the  wind  ? 
But  one  to  the  water  of  the  sea  ? 
Is  there  but  one  spark  in  the  fire  of  boundless  energy  ?  " 

He  says  of  his  hero,  Cunedda,  — 
"He  will  assimilate,  he  will  agree  with  the  deep  and  tho 
shallow." 

To  another,  — 

"  When  I  lapse  to  a  sinful  word, 
May  neither  you,  nor  others  hear." 

Of  an  enemy,  — 

"  The  cauldron  of  the  sea  was  bordered  round  by  his 
land,  but  it  would  not  boil  the  food  of  a  coward." 

To  an  exile  on  an  island  he  says,  — 

"  The  heavy  blue  chain  of  the  sea  didst  thou,  0  just 
man,  endure." 

Another  bard  in  like  tone  says,  — 

"  I  am  possessed  of  songs  such  as  no  son  of  man  can 
repeat ;  one  of  them  is  called  the  '  Helper  ;  '  it  will  help 
theo  at  thy  need  in  sickness,  grief,  and  all  adversities. 
I  know  a  song  which  I  need  only  to  sing  when  men 


BARDS  AND  TROUVEURS.  61 

have  loaded  me  with  bonds  :  when  I  sing  it,  my  chains 
fall  m  pieces  and  I  walk  forth  at  liberty." 

The  Norsemen  have  no  less  faith  in  poetry  and 
its  power,  when  they  describe  it  thus  :  — 

"  Odin  spoke  everything  in  rhyme.  He  and  his  tem 
ple-gods  were  called  song-smiths.  He  could  make  his 
enemies  in  battle  blind  or  deaf,  and  their  weapons  so 
blunt  that  they  could  110  more  cut  than  a  willow-twig. 
Odin  taught  these  arts  in  runes  or  songs,  which  aro 
called  incantations."  1 

The  Crusades  brought  out  the  genius  of  France, 
in  the  twelfth  century,  when  Pierre  d'Auvergne 
said,  — 

"  I  will  sing  a  new  song  which  resounds  in  my  breast : 
never  was  a  song  good  or  beautiful  which  resembled  any 
other." 

And  Pons  de  Capdeuil  declares,  — 

"  Since  the  air  renews  itself  and  softens,  so  must  my 
heart  renew  itself,  and  what  buds  in  it  buds  and  grows 
outside  of  it." 

There  is  in  every  poem  a  height  which  attracts 
more  than  other  parts,  and  is  best  remembered. 
Thus,  in  "  Morte  d' Arthur,"  I  remember  nothing 
so  well  as  Sir  Ga wain's  parley  with  Merlin  in  his 
wonderful  prison  :  — 

"After  the  disappearance  of  Merlin  from  King  Ar- 
1  Heimskriugla,  Vol.  I.  p.  221. 


62  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

thur's  court  he  was  seriously  missed,  and  many  knights 
set  out  in  search  of  him.  Among  others  was  Sir  Ga- 
Yrain,  who  pursued  his  search  till  it  was  time  to  return  to 
the  court.  He  came  into  the  forest  of  Broceliaiide,  la 
menting  as  he  went  along.  Presently  he  heard  the  voice 
of  one  groaning  on  his  right  hand  ;  looking  that  way,  he 
could  see  nothing  save  a  kind  of  smoke  which  seemed 
like  air.  and  through  which  he  could  not  pass  ;  and  this 
impediment  made  him  so  wrathful  that  it  deprived  him 
of  speech.  Presently  he  heard  a  voice  which  said,  '  Ga- 
wain,  Gawain,  be  not  out  of  heart,  for  everything  which 
must  happen  will  come  to  pass.'  And  when  he  heard 
the  voice  which  thus  called  him  by  his  right  name,  he 
replied,  i  Who  can  this  be  who  hath  spoken  to  me  ? ' 
'  How,'  said  the  voice,  *  Sir  Gawain,  know  you  me  not  ? 
You  were  wont  to  know  me  well,  but  thus  things  are  in 
terwoven  and  thus  the  proverb  says  true,  "  Leave  the 
court  and  the  court  will  leave  you."  So  is  it  with  me. 
Whilst  I  served  King  Arthur,  I  was  well  knoAvn  by  you 
and  by  other  barons,  but  because  I  have  left  the  court, 
I  am  known  no  longer,  and  put  in  forgetfulness,  which 
I  ought  not  to  be  if  faith  reigned  in  the  world.'  When 
Sir  Gawain  heard  the  voice  which  spoke  to  him  thus,  he 
thought  it  was  Merlin,  and  he  answered,  '  Sir,  certes  I 
ought  to  know  you  well,  for  many  times  I  have  heard 
your  words.  I  pray  you  appear  before  me  so  that  I 
may  be  able  to  recognize  you.'  *  Ah,  sir,'  said  Merlin, 
*  you  will  never  see  me  more,  and  that  grieves  me,  but 
I  cannot  remedy  it,  and  when  you  shall  have  departed 
from  this  place,  I  shall  nevermore  speak  to  you  nor  to 


BARDS  AND   TROUVEURS.  63 

any  other  person,  save  only  my  mistress ;  for  never  other 
person  will  be  able  to  discover  this  place  for  anything 
which  may  befall ;  neither  shall  I  ever  go  out  from 
hence,  for  in  the  world  there  is  no  such  strong  tower  as 
this  wherein  I  am  confined  ;  and  it  is  neither  of  wood, 
nor  of  iron,  nor  of  stone,  but  of  air,  without  anything 
else ;  and  made  by  enchantment  so  strong  that  it  can 
never  be  demolished  while  the  world  lasts  ;  neither  can 
I  go  out,  nor  can  any  one  come  in,  save  she  who  hath 
enclosed  me  here  and  who  keeps  me  company  when  it 
pleaseth  her  :  she  cometh  when  she  listeth,  for  her  will 
is  here.'  '  How,  Merlin,  my  good  friend,'  said  Sir  Ga- 
wain,  '  are  you  restrained  so  strongly  that  you  cannot 
deliver  yourself  nor  make  yourself  visible  unto  me ;  how 
can  this  happen,  seeing  that  you  are  the  wisest  man  in 
the  world  ?  '  '  Rather,'  said  Merlin,  '  the  greatest  fool ; 
for  I  well  knew  that  all  this  would  befall  me,  and  I  have 
been  fool  enough  to  love  another  more  than  myself,  for 
I  taught  my  mistress  that  whereby  she  hath  imprisoned 
me  in  such  a  manner  that  none  can  set  me  free.'  '  Certes, 
Merlin,'  replied  Sir  Gawain,  '  of  that  I  am  right  sorrow 
ful,  and  so  will  King  Arthur,  my  uncle,  be,  when  he 
shall  know  it,  as  one  who  is  making  search  after  you 
throughout  all  countries.'  '  Well,'  said  Merlin,  '  it  must 
be  borne,  for  never  will  he  see  me,  nor  I  him ;  neither 
will  any  one  speak  with  me  again  after  you,  it  would  be 
vain  to  attempt  it ;  for  you  yourself,  when  you  have 
turned  away,  will  never  be  able  to  find  the  place  :  but 
salute  for  me  the  king  and  the  queen  and  all  the  barons, 
and  tell  them  of  my  condition.  You  will  find  the  king 


64  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

at  Carduel  in  Wales  ;  and  when  you  arrive  there  you 
will  find  there  all  the  companions  who  departed  with 
you,  and  who  at  this  day  will  return.  Now  then  go  in 
the  name  of  God,  who  will  protect  and  save  the  King 
Arthur,  and  the  realm  of  Logres,  and  you  also,  as  the 
best  knights  who  are  in  the  world.'  With  that  Sir  Ga- 
wain  departed  joyful  and  sorrowful ;  joyful  because  of 
what  Merlin  had  assured  him  should  happen  to  him,  and 
sorrowful  that  Merlin  had  thus  been  lost." 

Morals.  — We  are  sometimes  apprised  that  there 
is  a  mental  power  and  creation  more  excellent  than 
anything  which  is  commonly  called  philosophy  and 
literature  ;  that  the  high  poets,  that  Homer,  Mil 
ton,  Shakspeare,  do  not  fully  content  us.  How 
rarely  they  offer  us  the  heavenly  bread !  The  most 
they  have  clone  is  to  intoxicate  us  once  and  again 
with  its  taste.  They  have  touched  this  heaven  and 
retain  afterwards  some  sparkle  of  it :  they  betray 
their  belief  that  such  discourse  is  possible.  There 
is  something  —  our  brothers  on  this  or  that  side  of 
the  sea  do  not  know  it  or  own  it ;  the  eminent 
scholars  of  England,  historians  and  reviewers,  ro 
mancers  and  poets  included,  might  deny  and  blas 
pheme  it,  —  which  is  setting  us  and  them  aside  and 
the  whole  world  also,  and  planting  itself.  To  true 
poetry  we  shall  sit  down  as  the  result  and  justifi 
cation  of  the  age  in  which  it  appears,  and  think 
lightly  of  histories  and  statutes.  None  of  your  par- 


MORALS.  65 

lor  or  piano  verse,  none  of  your  carpet  poets,  who 
are  content  to  amuse,  will  satisfy  us.  Power,  new 
power,  is  the  good  which  the  soul  seeks.  The  po 
etic  gift  we  want,  as  the  health  and  supremacy  of 
man,  —  not  rhymes  and  sonneteering,  not  book- 
making  and  bookselling ;  surely  not  cold  spying 
and  authorship. 

Is  not  poetry  the  little  chamber  in  the  brain 
where  is  generated  the  explosive  force  which,  by 
gentle  shocks,  sets  in  action  the  intellectual  world  ? 
Bring  us  the  bards  who  shall  sing  all  our  old  ideas 
out  of  our  heads,  and  new  ones  in ;  men-making 
poets ;  poetry  which,  like  the  verses  inscribed  on 
Balder's  columns  in  Breidablik,  is  capable  of  restor 
ing  the  dead  to  life  ;  —  poetry  like  that  verse  of 
Saadi,  which  the  angels  testified  "  met  the  approba 
tion  of  Allah  in  Heaven ;  " —  poetry  which  finds  its 
rhymes  and  cadences  in  the  rhymes  and  iterations 
of  nature,  and  is  the  gift  to  men  of  new  images  and 
symbols,  each  the  ensign  and  oracle  of  an  age ;  that 
shall  assimilate  men  to  it,  mould  itself  into  religions 
and  mythologies,  and  impart  its  quality  to  centu 
ries  ;  —  poetry  which  tastes  the  world  and  reports 
of  it,  upbuilding  the  world  again  in  the  thought ;  — 

"  Not  with  tickling  rhymes, 
But  high  and  noble  matter,  such  as  flies 
From  brains  entranced,  and  filled  with  ecstasies." 

Poetry  must  be  affirmative.     It  is  the  piety  of 

VOL.  VIII.  5 


66  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

the  intellect.  "  Thus  saith  the  Lord,"  should  begin 
the  song.  The  poet  who  shall  use  nature  as  his 
hieroglyphic  must  have  an  adequate  message  to 
convey  thereby.  Therefore  when  we  speak  of  the 
Poet  in  a  high  sense,  we  are  driven  to  such  exam 
ples  as  Zoroaster  and  Plato,  St.  John  and  Menu, 
with  their  moral  burdens.  The  Muse  shall  be  the 
counterpart  of  Nature,  and  equally  rich.  I  find  her 
not  often  in  books.  We  know  Nature  and  figure 
her  exuberant,  tranquil,  magnificent  in  her  fertility' , 
coherent ;  so  that  every  creation  is  omen  of  every 
other.  She  is  not  proud  of  the  sea,  of  the  stars, 
of  space  or  time,  or  man  or  woman.  All  her  kinds 
share  the  attributes  of  the  selectest  extremes.  But 
in  current  literature  I  do  not  find  her.  Literature 
warps  away  from  life,  though  at  first  it  seems  to 
bind  it.  In  the  world  of  letters  how  few  command 
ing  oracles !  Homer  did  what  he  could  ;  Pindar, 
./Eschylus,  and  the  Greek  Gnomic  poets  and  the 
tragedians.  Dante  was  faithful  when  not  carried 
away  by  his  fierce  hatreds.  Bat  in  so  many  al 
coves  of  English  poetry  I  can  count  only  nine  or 
ten  authors  who  are  still  inspirers  and  lawgivers 
to  their  race. 

The  supreme  value  of  poetry  is  to  educate  us  to  a 
height  beyond  itself,  or  which  it  rarely  reaches  ;  — 
the  subduing  mankind  to  order  and  virtue.  He  is 
the  true  Orpheus  who  writes  his  ode,  not  with  syl- 


-  >     rftfi 


MORALS.  67 

lables,  but  men.  "In  poetry,"  said  Goethe,  6C><ml; 
the  really  great  and  pure  advances  us,  and  this  ex 
ists  as  a  second  nature,  either  elevating  us  to  itself, 
or  rejecting  us."  The  poet  must  let  Humanity  sit 
with  the  Muse  in  his  head,  as  the  charioteer  sits 
with  the  hero  in  the  Iliad.  "  Show  me,"  said  Sa- 
rona  in  the  novel,  "  one  wicked  man  who  has  writ 
ten  poetry,  and  I  will  show  you  where  his  poetry  is 
not  poetry  ;  or  rather,  I  will  show  you  in  his  poe 
try  no  poetry  at  all."  1 

I  have  heard  that  there  is  a  hope  which  precedes 
and  must  precede  all  science  of  the  visible  or  the 
invisible  world ;  and  that  science  is  the  realization 
of  that  hope  in  either  region.  I  count  the  genius 
of  Swedenborg  and  Wordsworth  as  the  agents  of  a 
reform  in  philosophy,  the  bringing  poetry  back  to 
nature,  —  to  the  marrying  of  nature  and  mind,  un 
doing  the  old  divorce  in  which  poetry  had  been 
famished  and  false,  and  nature  had  been  suspected 
and  pagan.  The  philosophy  which  a  nation  re 
ceives,  rules  its  religion,  poetry,  politics,  arts, 
trades,  and  whole  history.  A  good  poem  —  say 
Shakspeare's  Macbeth,  or  Hamlet,  or  the  Tempest 
—  goes  about  the  world  offering  itself  to  reasonable 
men,  who  read  it  with  joy  and  carry  it  to  their 
reasonable  neighbors.  Thus  it  draws  to  it  the  wise 
and  generous  souls,  confirming  their  secret  thoughts, 

1  "  Counterparts."     Vol.  I.  p.  67. 


68  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

and,  through  their  sympathy,  really  publishing  it 
self.  It  affects  the  characters  of  its  readers  by  for 
mulating  their  opinions  and  feelings,  and  inevitably 
prompting  their  daily  action.  If  they  build  ships, 
they  write  "  Ariel  "  or  "  Prospero  "  or  "  Ophelia  " 
on  the  ship's  stern,  and  impart  a  tenderness  and 
mystery  to  matters  of  fact.  The  ballad  and  ro 
mance  work  on  the  hearts  of  boys,  who  recite  the 
rhymes  to  their  hoops  or  their  skates  if  alone,  and 
these  heroic  songs  or  lines  are  remembered  and  de 
termine  many  practical  choices  which  they  make 
later.  Do  you  think  Burns  has  had  no  influence 
on  the  life  of  men  and  women  in  Scotland,  — has 
opened  no  eyes  and  ears  to  the  face  of  nature  and 
the  dignity  of  man  and  the  charm  and  excellence 
of  woman  ? 

We  are  a  little  civil,  it  must  be  owned,  to  Homer 
and  JEschylus,  to  Dante  and  Shakspeare,  and  give 
them  the  benefit  of  the  largest  interpretation.  We 
must  be  a  little  strict  also,  and  ask  whether,  if  we 
sit  down  at  home,  and  do  not  go  to  Hamlet,  Harn- 
let  will  come  to  us?  whether  we  shall  find  our 
tragedy  written  in  his,  —  our  hopes,  wants,  pains, 
disgraces,  described  to  the  life,  —  and  the  \vay 
opened  to  the  paradise  which  ever  in  the  best  hour 
beckons  us  ?  But  our  overpraise  and  idealization 
of  famous  masters  is  not  in  its  origin  a  poor  Bos- 
wellism,  but  an  impatience  of  mediocrity.  The 


MORALS.  69 

praise  we  now  give  to  our  heroes  we  shall  unsay 
when  we  make  larger  demands.  How  fast  we  out 
grow  the  books  of  the  nursery,  —  then  those  that 
satisfied  our  youth.  What  we  once  admired  as 
poetry  has  long  since  come  to  be  a  sound  of  tin 
pans  ;  and  many  of  our  later  books  we  have  out 
grown.  Perhaps  Homer  and  Milton  will  be  tin 
pans  yet.  Better  not  to  be  easily  pleased.  The  poet 
should  rejoice  if  he  has  taught  us  to  despise  his 
song ;  if  he  has  so  moved  us  as  to  lift  us,  —  to  open 
the  eye  of  the  intellect  to  see  farther  and  better. 

In  proportion  as  a  man's  life  comes  into  union 
with  truth,  his  thoughts  approach  to  a  parallelism 
with  the  currents  of  natural  laws,  so  that  he  easily 
expresses  his  meaning  by  natural  symbols,  or  uses 
the  ecstatic  or  poetic  speech.  By  successive  states 
of  mind  all  the  facts  of  nature  are  for  the  first  time 
interpreted.  In  proportion  as  his  life  departs  from 
this  simplicity,  he  uses  circumlocution,  —  by  many 
words  hoping  to  suggest  what  he  cannot  say.  Vex 
atious  to  find  poets,  who  are  by  excellence  the 
thinking  and  feeling  of  the  world,  deficient  in  truth 
of  intellect  and  of  affection.  Then  is  conscience 
unfaithful,  and  thought  unwise.  To  know  the  merit 
of  Shakspeare,  read  Faust.  I  find  Faust  a  little 
too  modern  and  intelligible.  We  can  find  such 
a  fabric  at  several  mills,  though  a  little  inferior. 
Faust  abounds  in  the  disagreeable.  The  vice  is 


70  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

prurient,  learned,  Parisian.  In  the  presence  of 
Jove,  Priapus  may  be  allowed  as  an  offset,  but  here 
he  is  an  equal  hero.  The  egotism,  the  wit,  is  cal 
culated.  The  book  is  undeniably  written  by  a 
master,  and  stands  unhappily  related  to  the  whole 
modern  world ;  but  it  is  a  very  disagreeable  chap 
ter  of  literature,  and  accuses  the  author  as  well  as 
the  times.  Shakspeare  could  no  doubt  have  been 
disagreeable,  had  he  less  genius,  and  if  ugliness  had 
attracted  him.  In  short,  our  English  nature  and 
genius  has  made  us  the  worst  critics  of  Goethe,  — 

"  We,  who  speak  the  tongue 

That  Shakspeare  spake,  the  faith  and  manners  hold 
Which  Milton  held." 

It  is  not  style  or  rhymes,  or  a  new  image  more 
or  less  that  imports,  but  sanity ;  that  life  should 
not  be  mean  ;  that  life  should  be  an  image  in  every 
part  beautiful ;  that  the  old  forgotten  splendors  of 
the  universe  should  glow  again  for  us  ;  —  that  we 
should  lose  our  wit,  but  gain  our  reason.  And 
when  life  is  true  to  the  poles  of  nature,  the  streams 
of  truth  will  roll  through  us  in  song. 

Transcendency.  —  In  a  cotillion  some  persons 
dance  and  others  await  their  turn  when  the  music 
and  the  figure  come  to  them.  In  the  dance  of  God 
there  is  not  one  of  the  chorus  but  can  and  will 
begin  to  spin,  monumental  as  he  now  looks,  when- 


TRANSCENDENCY.  71 

ever  the  music  and  figure  reach  his  place  and  duty. 
O  celestial  Bacchus  !  drive  them  mad,  —  this  multi 
tude  of  vagabonds,  hungry  for  eloquence,  hungry 
for  poetry,  starving  for  symbols,  perishing  for  want 
of  electricity  to  vitalize  this  too  much  pasture,  and 
in  the  long  delay  indemnifying  themselves  with  the 
false  wine  of  alcohol,  of  politics,  or  of  money. 

Every  man  may  be,  and  at  some  time  a  man  is, 
lifted  to  a  platform  wlience_he_JLo.oks_l)eyoiid  jsense 
to  moral  and^  spiritual  truth,  and  in  that  mood  deals 
sovereignly  with  matter,  and  strings  worlds  like 
beads  upon  his  thought.  The  success  with  which 
this  is  done  can  alone  determine  how  genuine  is 
the  inspiration.  The  poet  is  rare  because  he  must 
be  exquisitely  vital  and  sympathetic,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  immovably  centred.  In  good  society, 
nay,  among  the  angels  in  heaven,  is  not  everything 
spoken  in  fine  parable,  and  not  so  servilely  as  it 
befell  to  the  sense  ?  All  is  symbolized.  Facts  are 
not  foreign,  as  they  seem,  but  related.  Wait  a  lit 
tle  and  we  see  the  return  of  the  remote  hyperbolic 
curve.  The  solid  men  complain  that  the  idealist 
leaves  out  the  fundamental  facts ;  the  poet  com 
plains  that  the  solid  men  leave  out  the  sky.  To 
every  plant  there  are  two  powers ;  one  shoots  down 
as  rootlet,  and  one  upward  as  tree.  You  must 
have  eyes  of  science  to  see  in  the  seed  its  nodes ; 
you  must  have  the  vivacity  of  the  poet  to  perceive 


72  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

in  the  thought  its  futurities.  The  poet  is  repre 
sentative,  —  whole  man,  diamond-merchant,  sym- 
bolizer,  emancipator ;  in  him  the  world  projects  a 
scribe's  hand  and  writes  the  adequate  genesis.  The 
nature  of  things  is  flowing,  a  metamorphosis.  The 
free  spirit  sympathizes  not  only  with  the  actual 
form,  but  with  the  power  or  possible  forms  ;  but  for 
obvious  municipal  .or  parietal  uses  God  has  given 
us  a  bias  or  a  rest  on  to-day's  forms.  Hence  the 
shudder  of  joy  with  which  in  each  clear  moment  we 
recognize  the  metamorphosis,  because  it  is  always 
a  conquest,  a  surprise  from  the  heart  of  things. 
One  would  say  of  the  force  in  the  works  of  nature, 
all  depends  on  the  battery.  If  it  give  one  shock, 
we  shall  get  to  the  fish  form,  and  stop ;  if  two 
shocks,  to  the  bird  ;  if  three,  to  the  quadruped ;  if 
four,  to  the  man.  Power  of  generalizing  differences 
men.  The  number  of  successive  saltations  the  nim 
ble  thought  can  make,  measures  the  difference  be 
tween  the  highest  and  lowest  of  mankind.  The 
habit  of  saliency,  of  not  pausing  but  going  on,  is  a 
sort  of  importation  or  domestication  of  the  Divine 
effort  in  a  man.  After  the  largest  circle  has  been 
drawn,  a  larger  can  be  drawn  around  it.  The 
problem  of  the  poet  is  to  unite  freedom  with  pre 
cision  ;  to  give  the  pleasure  of  color,  and  be  not 
less  the  most  powerful  of  sculptors.  Music  seems 
to  you  sufficient,  or  the  subtle  and  delicate  scent  of 


TRANSCENDENCY.  73 

lavender ;  but  Dante  was  free  imagination,  —  all 
wings, — yet  he  wrote  like  Euclid.  And  mark  the 
equality  of  Sliakspeare  to  the  comic,  the  tender  and 
sweet,  and  to  the  grand  and  terrible.  A  little  more 
or  less  skill  in  whistling  is  of  no  account.  See 
those  weary  pentameter  tales  of  Dryden  and  others. 
Turnpike  is  one  thing  and  blue  sky  another.  Let 
the  poet,  of  all  men,  stop  with  his  inspiration.  Tho 
inexorable  rule  in  the  muses'  court,  either  inspira 
tion  or  silence,  compels  the  bard  to  report  only  his 
supreme  moments.  It  teaches  the  enormous  force 
of  a  few  words,  and  in  proportion  to  the  inspiration 
checks  loquacity.  Much  that,  wejeall  poetry ia  but 
polite  verse.  The  high  poetry  which  shall  thrill 
and  agitate  mankind,  restore  youth  and  health,  dis 
sipate  the  dreams  under  which  men  reel  and  stag 
ger,  and  bring  in  the  new  thoughts,  the  sanity  and 
heroic  aims  of  nations,  is  deeper  hid  and  longer 
postponed  than  was  America  or  Australia,  or  the 
finding  of  steam  or  of  the  galvanic  battery.  We 
must  not  conclude  against  poetry  from  the  defects 
of  poets.  They  are,  in  our  experience,  men  of 
every  degree  of  skill,  —  some  of  them  only  once  or 
twice  receivers  of  an  inspiration,  and  presently  fall 
ing  back  on  a  low  life.  The  drop  of  ichor  that 
tingles  in  their  veins  has  not  yet  refined  their  blood 
and  cannot  lift  the  whole  man  to  the  digestion  and 
function  of  ichor,  —  that  is,  to  godlike  nature. 


74  POETRY  AND  IMAGINATION. 

Time  will  be  when  ichor  shall  be  their  blood,  when 
what  are  now  glimpses  and  aspirations  shall  be  the 
routine  of  the  day.  Yet  even  partial  ascents  to 
poetry  and  ideas  are  forerunners,  and  announce  the 
dawn.  In  the  mire  of  the  sensual  life,  their  relig 
ion,  their  poets,  their  admiration  of  heroes  and 
benefactors,  even  their  novel  and  newspaper,  nay, 
their  superstitions  also,  are  hosts  of  ideals,  —  a 
cordage  of  ropes  that  hold  them  up  out  <e£  the 
slough.  Poetry  is  inestimable  as  a  lonely  &M0i,  a 
lonely  protest  in  the  uproar  of  atheism.  % 

But  so  many  men  are  ill-born  or  ill-bred,  —  the 
brains  are  so  marred,  so  imperfectly  formed,  unhe- 
roically,  brains  of  the  sons  of  fallen  men,  that  the 
doctrine  is  imperfectly  received.  One  man  sees  a 
spark  or  shimmer  of  the  truth  and  reports  it,  and 
his  saying  becomes  a  legend  or  golden  proverb  for 
ages,  and  other  men  report  as  much,  but  none 
wholly  and  well.  Poems! — we  have  no  poem. 
Whenever  that  angel  shall  be  organized  and  appear 
on  earth,  the  Iliad  will  be  reckoned  a  poor  ballad- 
grinding.  I  doubt  never  the  riches  of  nature,  the 
gifts  of  the  future,  the  immense  wealth  of  the  mind. 
O  yes,  poets  we  shall  have,  mythology,  symbols, 
religion,  of  our  own.  We  too  shall  know  how  to 
take  up  all  this  industry  and  empire,  this  Western 
civilization,  into  thought,  as  easily  as  men  did.  when 
arts  were  few ;  but  not  by  holding  it  high,  but  by 


TRANSCENDENCY.  75 

holding  it  low.  The  intellect  uses  and  is  not  used, 
—  uses  London  and  Paris  and  Berlin,  East  and 
West,  to  its  end.  The  only  heart  that  can  help  us 
is  one  that  draws,  not  from  our  society,  but  from 
itself,  a  counterpoise  to  society.  What  if  we  find 
partiality  and  meanness  in  us  ?  The  grandeur  of 
our  life  exists  in  spite  of  us.  —  all  over  and  under 
and  within  us,  in  what  of  us  is  inevitable  and  above 
our  co^ol.  Men  are  facts  as  well  as  persons,  and 
the  i^^untary  part  of  their  life  is  so  much  as 
to  fill  the  mind  and  leave  them  no  countenance  to 
say  aught  of  what  is  so  trivial  as  their  selfish  think 
ing  and  doing.  Sooner  or  later  that  which  is  now 
life  shall  be  poetry,  and  every  fair  and  manly  trait 
shall  add  a  richer  strain  to  the  song.  ^ 


SOCIAL  AIMS. 


SOCIAL  AIMS. 


MUCH  ill-natured  criticism  has  been  directed  on 
American  manners.  I  do  not  think  it  is  to  be  re 
sented.  Rather,  if  we  are  wise,  we  shall  listen  and 
mend.  Our  critics  will  then  be  onr  best  friends, 
though  they  did  not  mean  it.  But  in  every  sense 
the  subject  of  manners  has  a  constant  interest  to 
thoughtful  persons.  Who  does  not  delight  in  fine 
manners  ?  Their  charm  cannot  be  predicted  or 
overstated.  'T  is  perpetual  promise  of  more  than 
can  be  fulfilled.  It  is  music  and  sculpture  and 
picture  to  many  who  do  not  pretend  to  apprecia 
tion  of  those  arts.  It^  is  even  true  that  grace  is, 
more  beautiful  than  beauty..  Yet  how  impossible 
to  overcome  the  obstacle  of  an  unlucky  tempera 
ment  and  acquire  good  manners,  ^unless  by  living 
•with  the  well-bred  from  the  start ;  and  this  makes 
the  value  of  wise  forethought  to  give  ourselves  and 
our  children  as  much  as  possible  the  habit  of  culti 
vated  society. 

( 'T  is  an  inestimable  hint  that  I  owe  to  a  few  per 
sons  of  fine  manners,  that  they  make  behavior  the 
very  first  sign  of  force,  —  behavior,  and  not  per- 


80  SOCIAL  ATMS. 

formance,  or  talent,  or,  much  less,  wealth.  Whilst 
almost  everybody  has  a  supplicating  eye  turned  on 
events  and  things  and  other  persons,  a  few  natures 
are  central  and  forever  unfold,  and  these  alone 
charm  us.  \He  whose  word  or  deed  you  cannot 
predict,  who  answers  you  without  any  supplication 
in  his  eye,  who  draws  his  determination  from  within, 
and  draws  it  instantly,  —  that  man  rules.) 

The  staple  figure  in  novels  is  the  man  of  aplomb, 
who  sits,  among  the  young  aspirants  and  desperates, 
quite  sure  and  compact,  and,  never  sharing  their 
affections  or  debilities,  hurls  his  word  like  a  bullet 
when  occasion  requires,  knows  his  way,  and  carries 
his  points.  They  may  scream  or  applaud,  he  is 
never  engaged  or  heated.  Napoleon  is  the  type  of 
this  class  in  modern  history ;  Byron's  heroes  in 
poetry.  But  we  for  the  most  part  are  all  drawn 
into  the  charivari ;  we  chide,  lament,  cavil,  and  re 
criminate. 

I  think  Hans  Andersen's  story  of  the  cobweb 
cloth  woven  so  fine  that  it  was  invisible,  —  woven 
for  the  king's  garment,  —  must  mean  manners, 
which  do  really  clothe  a  princely  nature.  Such  a 
one  can  well  go  in  a  blanket,  if  he  would.  In  the 
gymnasium  or  on  the  sea-beach  his  superiority  does 
not  leave  him.  But  he  who  has  not  this  fine  gar 
ment  of  behavior  is  studious  of  dress,  and  then  not 
less  of  house  and  furniture  and  pictures  and  gar- 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  81 

dens,  in  all  which  he  hopes  to  lie  perdu,  and  not 
be  exposed. 

"  Manners  are  stronger  than  laws."  Their  vast 
convenience  I  must  always  admire.  The  perfect 
defence  and  isolation  which  they  effect  makes  an  in 
superable  protection.  Though  the  person  so  clothed 
wrestle  with  you,  or  swim  with  you,  lodge  in  the 
same  chamber,  eat  at  the  same  table,  he  is  yet  a 
thousand  miles  off,  and  can  at  any  moment  finish, 
with  you.  Manners  seem  to  say,  You  are  you, 
and  I  am  I.  In  the  most  delicate  natures,  fine 
temperament  and  culture  build  this  impassable  wall. 
Balzac  finely  said  :  "  Kings  themselves  cannot  force 
the  exquisite  politeness  of  distance  to  capitulate, 
hid  behind  its  shield  of  bronze." 

Nature  values  manners.  See  how  she  has  pre 
pared  for  them.  Who  teaches  manners  of  majesty, 
of  frankness,  of  grace,  of  humility,  —  who  but  the 
adoring  aunts  and  cousins  that  surround  a  young 
child  ?  The  babe  meets  such  courting  and  flattery 
as  only  kings  receive  when  adult ;  and,  trying  ex 
periments,  and  at  perfect  leisure  with  these  posture- 
masters  and  flatterers  all  day,  he  throws  himself 
into  all  the  attitudes  that  correspond  to  theirs. 
Are  they  humble?  he  is  composed.  Are  they  eager ? 
he  is  nonchalant.  Are  they  encroaching?  he  is 
dignified  and  inexorable.  And  this  scene  is  daily 
repeated  in  hovels  as  well  as  in  high  houses. 

VOL.  VIII.  6 


82  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

Nature  is  the  best  posture-master.  An  awkward 
man  is  graceful  when  asleep,  or  when  hard  at  work, 
or  agreeably  amused.  The  attitudes  of  children  are 
gentle,  persuasive,  royal,  in  their  games  and  in 
their  house-talk  and  in  the  street,  before  they  have 
learned  to  cringe.  'Tis  impossible  but  thought 
disposes  the  limbs  and  the  walk,  and  is  masterly 
or  secondary.  No  art  can  contravene  it  or  conceal 
it.  Give  me  a  thought,  and  my  hands  and  legs 
and  voice  and  face  will  all  go  right.  And  we  are 
awkward  for  want  of  thought.  The  inspiration  is 
scanty,  and  does  not  arrive  at  the  extremities.  J 

It  is  a  commonplace  of  romances  to  show  the 
ungainly  manners  of  the  pedant  who  has  lived  too 
long  in  college.  •  Intellectual  men  pass  for  vulgar, 
and  are  timid  and  heavy  with  the  elegant.  But  if 
the  elegant  are  also  intellectual,  instantly  the  hesi 
tating  scholar  is  inspired,  transformed,  and  exhibits 
the  best  style  of  manners.  An  intellectual  man, 
though  of  feeble  spirit,  is  instantly  reinforced  by 
being  put  into  the  company  of  scholars,  and,  to  the 
surprise  of  everybody,  becomes  a  lawgiver.  We 
think  a  man  unable  and  desponding.  It  is  only 
\Jjjat  he  is  misplaced.  Put  him  with  new  compan 
ions,  and  they  will  find  in  him  excellent  qualities, 
unsuspected  accomplishments,  and  the  joy  of  life. 
'T  is  a  great  point  in  a  gallery,  how  you  hang  pic 
tures  ;  and  not  less  in  society,  how  you  seat  your 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  83 

party.  The  circumstance  of  circumstance  is  timing 
and  placing.  When  a  man  meets  his  accurate 
mate,  society  begins,  and  life  is  delicious. 

What  happiness  they  give,  —  what  ties  they 
form !  Whilst  one  -man  by  his  manners  pins  me 
to  the  wall,  with  another  I  walk  among  the  stars. 
One  man  can,  by  his  voice,  lead  the  cheer  of  a  reg 
iment  ;  another  will  have  no  following.  Nature 
made  us  all  intelligent  of  these  signs,  for  our  safety 
and  our  happiness.  Whilst  certain  faces  are  illu 
mined  with  intelligence,  decorated  with  invitation, 
others  are  marked  with  warnings  :  certain  voices 
are  hoarse  and  truculent ;  sometimes  they  even 
bark.  There  is  the  same  difference  between  heavy 
and  genial  manners  as  between  the  perceptions  of 
octogenarians  and  those  of  young  girls  who  see 
everything  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

Manners  are  the  revealers  of  secrets,  the  betray 
ers  of  any  disproportion  or  want  of  symmetry  in 
mind  and  character.  It  is  the  law  of  our  constitu 
tion  that  every  change  in  our  experience  instantly 
indicates  itself  on  our  countenance  and  carriage,  as 
the  lapse  of  time  tells  itself  on  the  face  of  a  clock. 
We  may  be  too  obtuse  to  read  it,  but  the  record  is 
there.  Some  men  may  be  obtuse  to  read  it,  but 
some  men  are  not  obtuse  and  do  read  it.  In  Bor- 
row's  "  Lavengro,"  the  gypsy  instantly  detects,  by 
his  companion's  face  and  behavior,  that  some  good 


84  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

fortune  has  befallen  him,  and  that  he  has  money. 
We  say,  in  these  clays,  that  credit  is  to  be  abolished 
in  trade:  is  it?  When  a  stranger  comes  to  buy 
goods  of  you,  do  you  not  look  in  his  face  and  an 
swer  according  to  what  you  read  there  ?  Credit  is  to 
be  abolished  ?  Can't  you  abolish  faces  and  charac 
ter,  of  which  credit  is  the  reflection  ?  As  long  as 
men  are  born  babes  they  will  live  on  credit  for  the 
first  fourteen  or  eighteen  years  of  their  life.  Every 
innocent  man  has  in  his  countenance  a  promise  to 
pay,  and  hence  credit.  Less  credit  will  there  be  ? 
You  are  mistaken.  There  will  always  be  more  and 
more.  Character  must  be  trusted  ;  and  just  in 
proportion  to  the  morality  of  a  people  will  be  the 
expansion  of  the  credit  system. 

There  is  even  a  little  rule  of  prudence  for  the 
young  experimenter  which  Dr.  Franklin  omitted  to 
set  down,  yet  which  the  youth  may  find  useful,  — 
Do  not  go  to  ask  your  debtor  the  payment  of  a 
debt  on  the  day  when  you  have  no  other  resource. 
He  will  learn  by  your  air  and  tone  how  it  is  with 
you,  and  will  treat  you  as  a  beggar.  But  work 
and  starve  a  little  longer.  Wait  till  your  affairs 
go  better  and  you  have  other  means  at  hand ;  you 
will  then  ask  in  a  different  tone,  and  he  will  treat 
your  claim  with  entire  respect. 

Now  we  all  wish  to  be  graceful,  and  do  justice  to 
ourselves  by  our  manners  ;  but  youth  in  America  is 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  85 

wont  to  be  poor  and  hurried,  not  at  ease,  or  not  in 
society  where  high  behavior  could  be  taught.  But 
the  sentiment  of  honor  and  the  wish  to  serve  make 
all  our  pains  superfluous.  Life  is  not  so  short  but 
that  there  is  always  time  enough  for  courtesy. 
Self-command  is  the  main  elegance.  "  Keep  cool, 
and  you  command  everybody,"  said  St.  Just ;  and 
the  wily  old  Talleyrand  would  still  say,  Surtout, 
messieurs,  pas  de  zele,  —  "  Above  all,  gentlemen, 
no  heat." 

Why  have  you  statues  in  your  hall,  but  to  teach 
you  that,  when  the  door-bell  rings,  you  shall  sit 
like  them.  "  Eat  at  your  table  as  you  would  eat 
at  the  table  of  the  king,"  said  Confucius.  It  is  an 
excellent  custom  of  the  Quakers,  if  only  for  a 
school  of  manners,  —  the  silent  prayer  before  meals. 
It  has  the  effect  to  stop  mirth,  and  introduce  a 
moment  of  reflection.  After  the  pause,  all  resume 
their  usual  intercourse  from  a  vantage-ground. 
What  a  check  to  the  violent  manners  which  some 
times  come  to  the  table,  —  of  wrath,  and  whin 
ing,  and  heat  in  trifles  ! 

'T  is  a  rule  of  manners  to  avoid  exaggeration.  A 
lady  loses  as  soon  as  she  admires  too  easily  and  too 
much.  In  man  or  woman,  the  face  and  the  person 
lose  power  when  they  are  011  the  strain  to  express 
admiration.  A  man  makes  his  inferiors  his  superi 
ors  by  heat.  Why  need  you,  who  are  not  a  gossip, 


86  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

talk  as  a  gossip,  and  tell  eagerly  what  the  neighbors 
or  the  journals  say  ?  State  your  opinion  without 
apology.  The  attitude  is  the  main  point,  assuring 
your  companion  that,  come  good  news  or  come  bad, 
you  remain  in  good  heart  and  good  mind,  which 
is  the  best  news  you  can  possibly  communicate. 
Self-control  is  the  rule.  You  have  in  you  there  a 
noisy,  sensual  savage,  which  you  are  to  keep  down, 
and  turn  all  his  strength  to  beauty.  For  example, 
what  a  seneschal  and  detective  is  laughter !  It 
seems  to  require  several  generations  of  education 
to  train  a  squeaking  or  a  shouting  habit  out  of  a 
man.  Sometimes,  when  in  almost  all  expressions 
the  Choctaw  and  the  slave  have  been  worked  out 
of  him,  a  coarse  nature  still  betrays  itself  in  his 
contemptible  squeals  of  joy.  It  is  necessary  for  the 
purification  of  drawing-rooms  that  these  entertain 
ing  explosions  should  be  under  strict  control.  Lord 
Chesterfield  had  early  made  this  discovery,  for  he 
;  says,  "  I  am  sure  that  since  I  had  the  use  of  my 
'reason,  no  human  being  has  ever  heard  me  laugh." 
I  know  that  there  go  two  to  this  game,  and,  in  the 
presence  of  certain  formidable  wits,  savage  nature 
must  sometimes  rush  out  in  some  disorder. 

To  pass  to  an  allied  topic,  one  word  or  two  in 
regard  to  dress,  in  which  our  civilization  instantly 
shows  itself.  No  nation  is  dressed  with  more  good 
sense  than  ours.  And  everybody  sees  certain  moral 


'SOCIAL  AIMS.  87 

benefit  in  it.  When  the  young  European  emigrant, 
after  a  summer's  labor,  puts  on  for  the  first  time  a 
new  coat,  he  puts  on  much  more.  His  good  and 
becoming  clothes  put  him  on  thinking  that  he  must 
behave  like  people  who  are  so  dressed ;  and  silently 
and  steadily  his  behavior  mends.  But  quite  another 
class  of  our  own  youth  I  should  remind,  of  dress 
in  general,  that  some  people  need  it  and  others 
need  it  not.  Thus  a  king  or  a  general  does  not  need 
a  fine  coat,  and  a  commanding  person  may  save 
himself  all  solicitude  on  that  point.  There  are  al 
ways  slovens  in  State  Street  or  Wall  Street,  who 
are  not  less  considered.  {^If  a  man  have  manners 
and  talent  he  may  dress  roughly  and  carelessly. 
It  is  only  when  mind  and  character  slumber  that 
the  dress  can  be  seen.  If  the  intellect  were  always 
awake,  and  every  noble  sentiment,  the  man  might 
go  in  a  huckaback  or  mats,  and  his  dress  would  be 
admired  and  imitated.  Remember  George  Her 
bert's  maxim,  "This  coat  with  my  discretion  will 
be  brave."  If,  however,  a  man  has  not  firm  nerves 
and  has  keen  sensibility,  it  is  perhaps  a  wise  econ 
omy  to  go  to  a  good  shop  and  dress  himself  irre 
proachably.  He  can  then  dismiss  all  care  from  his 
mind,  and  may  easily  find  that  performance  an  ad 
dition  of  confidence,  a  fortification  that  turns  the 
scale  in  social  encounters,  and  allows  him  to  go 
gayly  into  conversations  where  else  he  had  been 


88  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

dry  and  embarrassed.  I  am  not  ignorant,  —  I  have 
heard  with  admiring  submission  the  experience  of 
the  lady  who  declared  that  "  the  sense  of  being 
perfectly  well-dressed  gives  a  feeling  of  inward 
tranquillity  which  religion  is  powerless  to  bestow.*/ 
Thus  much  for  manners  :  but  we  are  not  content 
with  pantomime  ;  we  say,  This  is  only  for  the  eyes. 
We  want  real  relations  of  the  mind  and  the  heart ; 
we  want  friendship ;  we  want  knowledge  ;  we  want 
virtue  ;  a  more  inward  existence  to  read  the  history 
of  each  other.  Welfare  requires  one  or  two  com 
panions  of  intelligence,  probity,  and  grace,  to  wear 
out  life  with,  —  persons  with  whom  we  can  speak  a 
few  reasonable  words  every  day,  by  whom  we  can 
measure  ourselves,  and  who  shall  hold  us  fast  to 
good  sense  and  virtue  ;  and  these  we  are  always  in 
search  of.  He  must  be  inestimable  to  us  to  whom 
we  can  say  what  we  cannot  say  to  ourselves.  Yet 
now  and  then  we  say  things  to  our  mates,  or  hear 
things  from  them,  which  seem  to  put  it  out  of  the 
power  of  the  parties  to  be  strangers  again.  "  Ei 
ther  death  or  a  friend,"  is  a  Persian  proverb.  I 
suppose  I  give  the  experience  of  many  when  I  give 
my  own.  A  few  times  in  my  life  it  has  happened 
to  me  to  meet  persons  of  so  good  a  nature  and  so 
good  breeding  that  every  topic  was  open  and  dis 
cussed  without  possibility  of  offence,  —  persons  who 
could  not  be  shocked.  One  of  my  friends  said  in 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  89 

speaking  of  certain  associates,  "  There  is  not  one  of 
them  but  I  can  offend  at  any  moment."  But  to 
the  company  I  am  now  considering,  were  no  ter 
rors,  no  vulgarity.  All  topics  wero  broached,  — 
life,  love,  marriage,  sex,  hatred,  suicide,  magic,  the 
ism,  art,  poety,  religion,  myself,  thyself,  all  selves, 
and  whatever  else,  with  a  security  and  vivacity 
which  belonged  to  the  nobility  of  the  parties  and 
to  their  brave  truth.  The  life  of  these  persons  was 
conducted  in  the  same  calm  and  affirmative  man 
ner  as  their  discourse.  Life  with  them  was  an  ex 
periment  continually  varied,  full  of  results,  full  of 
grandeur,  and  by  no  means  the  hot  and  hurried 
business  which  passes  in  the  world.  The  delight  in 
good  company,  in  pure,  brilliant,  social  atmosphere ; 
the  incomparable  satisfaction  of  a  society  in  which 
everything  can  be  safely  said,  in  which  every  mem 
ber  returns  a  true  echo,  in  which  a  wise  freedom, 
an  ideal  republic  of  sense,  simplicity,  knowledge, 
and  thorough  good-meaning  abide,  —  doubles  the 
value  of  life.  It  is  this  that  justifies  to  each  the 
jealousy  with  which  the  doors  are  kept.  Do  not 
look  sourly  at  the  set  or  the  club  which  does  not 
choose  you.  Every  highly-organized  person  knows 
the  value  of  the  social  barriers,  since  the  best  soci 
ety  has  often  been  spoiled  to  him  by  the  intrusion 
of  bad  companions.  He  of  all  men  would  keep  the 
right  of  choice  sacred,  and  feel  that  the  exclusions 


90  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

are  in  the  interest  of  the  admissions,  though  they 
happen  at  this  moment  to  thwart  his  wishes. 

The  hunger  for  company  is  keen,  but  it  must  be 
discriminating,  and  must  be  economized.'  Tis  a  de 
fect  in  our  manners  that  they  have  not  yet  reached 
the  prescribing  a  limit  to  visits.  That  every  well- 
dressed  lady  or  gentlemen  should  be  at  liberty  to 
exceed  ten  minutes  in  his  or  her  call  on  serious 
people,  shows  a  civilization  still  rude.  A  universal 
etiquette  should  fix  an  iron  limit  after  which  a  mo 
ment  should  not  be  allowed  without  explicit  leave 
granted  on  request  of  either  the  giver  or  receiver 
of  the  visit.  There  is  inconvenience  in  such  strict 
ness,  but  vast  inconvenience  in  the  want  of  it.  To 
trespass  on  a  public  servant  is  to  trespass  on  a 
nation's  time.  Yet  presidents  of  the  United  States 
are  afflicted  by  rude  Western  and  Southern  gossips 
(I  hope  it  is  only  by  them)  until  the  gossip's  im 
measurable  legs  are  tired  of  sitting  ;  then  he  §  strides  f 
out  and  the  nation  is  relieved. 

It  is  very  certain  that  sincere  and  happy  conver 
sation  doubles  our  powers ;  that  in  the  effort  to  un 
fold  our  thought  to  a  friend  we  make  it  clearer  to 
ourselves,  and  surround  it  with  illustrations  that 
help  and  delight  us.  It  may  happen  that  each  hears 
from  the  other  a  better  wisdom  than  any  one  else 
will  ever  hear  from  either.  But  these  ties  are 
taken  care  of  by  Providence  to  each  of  us.  A  wise 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  91 

man  once  said  to  me  that  "  all  whom  he  knew, 
met:  "  —  meaning  that  he  need  not  take  pains  to 
introduce  the  persons  whom  he  valued  to  each 
other  :  they  were  sure  to  be  drawn  together  as  by 
gravitation.  The  soul  of  a  man  must  be  the  ser 
vant  of  another.  The  true  friend  must  have  an 
attraction  to  whatever  virtue  is  in  us.  Our  chief 
want  in  life,  —  is  it  not  somebody  who  can  make 
us  do  what  we  can  ?  And  we  are  easily  great  with 
the  loved  and  honored  associate.  We  come  out  of 
our  eggshell  existence  and  see  the  great  dome  arch 
ing  over  us ;  see  the  zenith  above  and  the  nadir 
under  us. 

Speech  is  power :  speech  is  to  persuade,  to  con 
vert,  to  compel.  It  is  to  bring  another  out  of  his 
bad  sense  into  your  good  sense.  You  are  to  be 
missionary  and  carrier  of  all  that  is  good  and  no 
ble.  Virtues  speak  to  virtues,  vices  to  vices,  — 
each  to  their  own  kind  in  the  people  with  whom  we 
deal.  If  you  are  suspiciously  and  dryly  on  your 
guard,  so  is  he  or  she.  If  you  rise  to  frankness 
and  generosity,  they  will  respect  it  now  or  later. 

In  this  art  of  conversation,  Woman,  if  not  the 
queen  and  victor,  is  the  lawgiver.  If  every  one 
recalled  his  experiences,  he  might  find  the  best  in 
the  speech  of  superior  women  ;  —  which  was  better 
than  song,  and  carried  ingenuity,  character,  wise 
counsel  and  affection,  as  easily  as  the  wit  with 


92  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

which  it  was  adorned.  They  are  not  only  wise 
themselves,  they  make  us  wise.  No  one  can  be  a 
master  in  conversation  who  has  not  learned  much 
from  women  ;  their  presence  and  inspiration  are 
essential  to  its  success.  Steele  said  of  his  mistress, 
that  "  to  have  loved  her  was  a  liberal  education." 
Shenstone  gave  no  bad  account  of  this  influence  in 
his  description  of  the  French  woman  :  "  There  is  a 
quality  in  which  no  woman  in  the  world  can  com 
pete  with  her,  —  it  is  the  power  of  intellectual  irri 
tation.  She  will  draw  wit  out  of  a  fool.  She  strikes 
with  such  address  the  chords  of  self-love,  that  she 
gives  unexpected  vigor  and  agility  to  fancy,  and 
electrifies  a  body  that  appeared  non-electric."  Cole 
ridge  esteems  cultivated  women  as  the  depositaries 
and  guardians  of  "  English  undefined ; "  and  Lu 
ther  commends  that  accomplishment  of  "  pure  Ger 
man  speech  "  of  his  wife. 

Madame  de  Stael,  by  the  unanimous  consent  of 
all  who  knew  her,  was  the  most  extraordinary  con- 
verser  that  was  known  in  her  time,  and  it  was  a 
time  full  of  eminent  men  and  women ;  she  knew  all 
distinguished  persons  in  letters  or  society  in  Eng 
land,  Germany,  and  Italy,  as  \vell  as  in  France  ; 
though  she  said,  with  characteristic  nationality, 
"  Conversation,  like  talent,  exists  only  in  France." 
Madame  de  Stael  valued  nothing  but  conversation. 
When  they  showed  her  the  beautiful  Lake  Leinan, 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  93 

she  exclaimed,  "  O  for  the  gutter  of  the  Rue  de 
Bac  !  "  the  street  in  Paris  in  which  her  house  stood. 
And  she  said  one  day,  seriously,  to  M.  Mole,  "  If  it 
were  not  for  respect  to  human  opinions,  I  would  not 
open  my  window  to  see  the  Bay  of  Naples  for  the 
first  time,  whilst  I  would  go  five  hundred  leagues 
to  talk  with  a  man  of  genius  whom  I  had  not  seen." 
Saintc-Beuve  tells  us  of  the  privileged  circle  at 
Coppet,  that  after  making  an  excursion  one  day, 
the  party  returned  in  two  coaches  from  Chambery 
to  Aix,  oil  the  way  to  Coppet.  The  first  coach  had 
many  rueful  accidents  to  relate,  —  a  terrific  thun 
der-storm,  shocking  roads,  and  danger  and  gloom 
to  the  whole  company.  The  party  in  the  second 
coach,  on  arriving,  heard  this  story  with  surprise ; 
—  of  thunder-storm,  of  steeps,  of  mud,  of  danger, 
they  knew  nothing ;  no,  they  had  forgotten  earth, 
and  breathed  a  purer  air  :  such  a  conversation  be* 
tween  Madame  de  Stacl  and  Madame  Recamier 
and  Benjamin  Constant  and  Schlegel !  they  were 
all  in  a  state  of  delight.  The  intoxication  of  the 
conversation  had  made  them  insensible  to  all  no 
tice  of  woather  or  rough  roads.  Madame  de  Tesse 
said,  "  If  I  were  Queen,  I  should  command  Mad 
ame  de  Stael  to  talk  to  me  every  day."  Conversa 
tion  fills  all  gaps,  supplies  all  deficiencies.  What 
a  good  trait  is  that  recorded  of  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon,  that,  during  dinner,  the  servant  slipped  to 


94  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

her  side,  "  Please,  maclame,  one  anecdote  more,  for 
there  is  no  roast  to-day." 

/  Politics,  war,  party,  luxury,  avarice,  fashion,  are 
all  asses  with  loaded  panniers  to  serve  the  kitchen 
of  Intellect,  the  king.  There  is  nothing  that  does 
not  pass  into  lever  or  weapon. 

And  yet  there  are  trials  enough  of  nerve  and 
character,  brave  choices  enough  of  taking  the  part 
of  truth  and  of  the  oppressed  against  the  oppressor, 
in  privatest  circles.  A  right  speech  is  not  well  to 
be  distinguished  from  action.  Courage  to  ask  ques 
tions  ;  courage  to  expose  our  ignorance.  The  great 
gain  is,  not  to  shine,  not  to  conquer  your  compan 
ion,  —  then  you  learn  nothing  but  conceit,  —  but 
to  find  a  companion  who  knows  what  you  do  not; 
to  tilt  with  him  and  be  overthrown,  horse  and  foot, 
with  utter  destruction  of  all  your  logic  and  learn 
ing.  There  is  a  defeat  that  is  useful.  Then  you 
can  see  the  real  and  the  counterfeit,  and  will  never 
accept  the  counterfeit  again.  You  will  adopt  the 
art  of  war  that  has  defeated  you.  You  will  ride  to 
battle  horsed  011  the  very  logic  which  you  found  ir 
resistible.  You  will  accept  the  fertile  truth,  in 
stead  of  the  solemn  customary  lie. 

Let  nature  bear  the  expense.  "The  attitude,  the 
tone,  is  all.  Let  our  eyes  not  look  away,  but  meet. 
Let  us  not  look  east  and  west  for  materials  of  con 
versation,  but  rest  in  presence  and  unity.  A  just 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  95 

feeling  will  fast  enough,  supply  fuel  for  discourse, 
if  speaking  be  more  grateful  than  silence.  When 
people  come  to  see  us,  we  foolishly  prattle,  lest  we 
be  inhospitable.  But  things  said  for  conversation 
are  chalk  eggs.  Don't  say  things.  What  you  are 
stands  over  you  the  while,  and  thunders  so  that  I 
cannot  hear  what  you  say  to  the  contrary.  A  lady 
of  my  acquaintance  said,  "  I  don't  care,  so  much 
for  what  they  say  as  I  do  for  what  makes  them  say 
it." 

The  main  point  is  to  throw  yourself  on  the  truth, 
and  say,  with  Newton,  "  There  's  no  contending 
against  facts."  When  Molyneux  fancied  that  the 
observations  of  the  nutation  of  the  earth's  axis  de 
stroyed  Newton's  theory  of  gravitation,  he  tried  to 
break  it  softly  to  Sir  Isaac,  who  only  answered, 
"  It  may  be  so,  there 's  no  arguing  against  facts 
and  experiments." 

But  there  are  people  who  cannot  be  cultivated, 
—  people  on  whom  speech  makes  no  impression ; 
swainish,  morose  people,  who  must  be  kept  down 
and  quieted  as  you  would  those  who  are  a  little 
tipsy;  others,  who  are  not  only  swainish,  but  are 
prompt  to  take  oath  that  swainishness  is  the  only 
culture  ;  and  though  their  odd  wit  may  have  some 
salt  for  you,  your  friends  would  not  relish  it.  Bolt 
these  out.  And  I  have  seen  a  man  of  genius  who 
made  me  think  that  if  other  men  were  like  him  co- 


96  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

operation  were  impossible.  Must  we  always  talk 
for  victory,  and  never  once  for  truth,  for  comfort, 
and  joy  ?  Here  is  centrality  and  penetration,  strong 
understanding,  and  the  higher  gifts,  the  insight  of 
the  real,  or  from  the  real,  and  the  moral  rectitude 
which  belongs  to  it :  but  all  this  and  all  his  re 
sources  of  wit  and  invention  are  lost  to  me  in  every 
experiment  that  I  make  to  hold  intercourse  with 
his  mind ;  always  some  weary,  captious  paradox  to 
fight  you  with,  and  the  time  and  temper  wasted. 
And  beware  of  jokes ;  too  much  temperance  cannot 
be  used  :  inestimable  for  sauce,  but  corrupting  for 
food,  we  go  away  hollow  and  ashamed.  As  soon 
as  the  company  give  in  to  this  enjoyment,  we  shall 
have  no  Olympus.  True  wit  never  made  us  laugh. 
Mahomet  seems  to  have  borrowed  by  anticipation 
of  several  centuries  a  leaf  from  the  mind  of  Swe- 
denborg,  when  he  wrote  in  the  Koran  :  — 

"  On  the  day  of  resurrection,  those  who  have  indulged 
in  ridicule  will  be  called  to  the  door  of  Pam$ise,  and 
have  it  shut  in  their  faces  when  they  reach  it.  Again, 
on  their  turning  back,  they  will  be  called  to  another 
door,  and  again,  on  reaching  it,  will  see  it  closed  against 
them  ;  and  so  on,  ad  infinitum,  without  end." 

Shun  the  negative  side.  Never  Worry  people 
with  your  contritions,  nor  with  dismal  views  of 
politics  or  society.  Never  name  sickness  :  even  if 
you  could  trust  yourself  on  that  perilous  topic, 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  97 

beware  of  unmuzzling  a  valetudinarian,  who  will 
soon  give  you  your  fill  of  it. 

The  law  of  the  table  is  Beauty,  —  a  respect  to 
the  common  soul  of  all  the  guests.  Everything 
is  unseasonable  which  is  private  to  two  or  three 
or  any  portion  of  the  company.  Tact  never  vio 
lates  for  a  moment  this  law ;  never  intrudes  the 
orders  of  the  house,  the  vices  of  the  absent,  or  a 
tariff  of  expenses,  or  professional  privacies ;  as  we 
say,  we  never  "talk  shop"  before  company.  Lov 
ers  abstain  from  caresses  and  haters  from  insults 
whilst  they  sit  in  one  parlor  with  common  friends. 

Stay  at  home  in  your  mind.  Don't  recite  other 
people's  opinions.  See  how  it  lies  there  in  you; 
and  if  there  is  no  counsel,  offer  none.  What  we 
want  is  not  your  activity  or  interference  with  your 
mind,  but  your  content  to  be  a  vehicle  of  the  sim 
ple  truth.  The  way  to  have  large  occasional  views, 
as  in  a  political  or  social  crisis,  is  to  have  large 
habitual  views.  When  men  consult  you,  it  is  not 
that  they  wish  you  to  stand  tip  toe  and  pump  your 
brains,  but  to  apply  your  habitual  view,  your  wis 
dom,  to  the  present  question,  forbearing  all  pedan 
tries  and  the  very  name  of  argument ;  for  in  good 
conversation  parties  don't  speak  to  the  words,  but 
to  the  meanings  of  each  other. 

Manners  first,  then  conversation.  •  Later,  we  see 
that  as  life  was  not  in  manners,  so  it  is  not  in 

VOL.   VIII.  7 


98  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

talk.  Manners  are  external ;  talk  is  occasional ; 
these  require  certain  material  conditions,  human 
labor  for  food,  clothes,  house,  tools,  and,  in  short, 
plenty  and  ease,  —  since  only  so  can  certain  finer 
and  finest  powers  appear  and  expand.  In  a  whole 
nation  of  Hottentots  there  shall  not  be  one  valuable 
man,  —  valuable  out  of  his  tribe.  In  every  million 
of  Europeans  or  of  Americans  there  shall  be  thou 
sands  who  would  be  valuable  on  any  spot  on  the 
globe. 

J\ '  The  consideration  the  rich  possess  in  all  societies 
is  not  without  meaning  or  right.  It  is  the  approval 
given  by  the  human  understanding  to  the  act  of 
creating  value  by  knowledge  and  labor.  It  is  the 
sense  of  every  human  being  that  man  should  have 
this  dominion  of  nature,  should  arm  himself  with 
:  tools  and  force  the  elements  to  drudge  for  him  and 
'  give  him  power.  Every  one  must  seek  to  secure 
his  independence ;  but  he  need  not  be  rich.  The 
old  Confucius  in  China  admitted  the  benefit,  but 
stated  the  limitation  :  "If  the  search  for  riches  were 
sure  to  be  successful,  though  I  should  become  a 
groom  with  whip  in  hand  to  get  them,  I  will  do  so. 
As  the  search  may  not  be  successful,  I  \vill  follow 
after  that  which  I  love."  There  is  in  America  a 
general  conviction  in  the  minds  of  all  mature  men, 
that  every  young  man  of  good  faculty  and  good 
habits  can  by  perseverance  attain  to  an  adequate 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  99 

estate ;  if  lie  have  a  turn  for  business,  and  a  quick 
eye  for  the  opportunities  which  are  always  offering 
for  investment,  he  can  come  to  wealth,  and  in  such 
good  season  as  to  enjoy  as  well  as  transmit  it. 

Every  human  society  wants  to  be  officered  by  a 
best  class,  who  shall  be  masters  instructed  in  all 
the  great  arts  of  life  ;  shall  be  wise,  temperate, 
brave,  public  men,  adorned  with  dignity  and  accom 
plishments.  Every  country  wishes  this,  and  each 
has  taken  its  own  method  to  secure  such  service  to 
the  state.  In  Europe,  ancient  and  modern,  it  has 
been  attempted  to  secure  the  existence  of  a  superior 
class  by  hereditary  nobility,  with  estates  transmitted 
by  primogeniture  and  entail.  But  in  the  last  age, 
this  system  has  been  on  its  trial,  and  the  verdict  of 
mankind  is  pretty  nearly  pronounced.  That  method 
secured  permanence  of  families,  firmness  of  cus 
toms,  a  certain  external  culture  and  good  taste ; 
gratified  the  ear  with  preserving  historic  names: 
but  the  heroic  father  did  not  surely  have  heroic 
sons,  and  still  less  surely  heroic  grandsons ;  wealth 
and  ease  corrupted  the  race. 

In  America,  the  necessity  of  clearing  the  forest, 
laying  out  town  and  street,  and  building  every 
house  and  barn  and  fence,  then  church  and  town- 
house,  exhausted  such  means  as  the  Pilgrims 
brought,  and  made  the  whole  population  poor; 
and  the  like  necessity  is  still  found  in  each  new 


100  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

settlement  in  the  Territories.  These  needs  gave 
their  character  to  the  public  debates  in  every  vil 
lage  and  State.  I  have  been  often  impressed  at 
our  country  town-meetings  with  the  accumulated 
virility,  in  each  village,  of  five  or  six  or  eight  or  ten 
men,  who  speak  so  well,  and  so  easily  handle  the 
affairs  of  the  town.  I  often  hear  the  business  of  a 
little  town  (with  which  I  am  most  familiar)  dis 
cussed  with  a  clearness  and  thoroughness,  and  with 
a  generosity  too,  that  would  have  satisfied  me  had 
it  been  one  of  the  larger  capitals.  I  am  sure  each 
one  of  my  readers  has  a  parallel  experience.  And 
every  one  knows  that  in  every  town  or  city  is 
always  to  be  found  a  certain  number  of  public- 
spirited  men  who  perform,  unpaid,  a  great  amount 
of  hard  work  in  the  interest  of  the  churches,  of 
schools,  of  public  grounds,  works  of  taste  and  refine 
ment.  And  as  in  civil  duties,  so  in  social  power 
and  duties.  Our  gentlemen  of  the  old  school,  that 
is,  of  the  school  of  Washington,  Adams,  and  Ham 
ilton,  were  bred  after  English  types,  and  that  style 
of  breeding  furnished  fine  examples  in  the  last  gen 
eration  ;  but,  though  some  of  us  have  seen  such,  I 
doubt  they  are  all  gone.  But  nature  is  not  poorer 
to-day.  (With  all  our  haste,  and  slipshod  ways,  and 
flippant  self-assertion,  I  have  seen  examples  of  new 
j  grace  and  power  in  address  that  honor  the  country. 
I  It  was  my  fortune  not  long  ago,  with  my  ey&s  di- 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  101 

rected  on  this  subject,  to  fall  in  with  an  American 
to  be  proud  of.  I  said  never  was  such  force,  good 
meaning,  good  sense,  good  action,  combined  with 
such  domestic  lovely  behavior,  such  modesty  and 
persistent  preference  for  others.  Wherever  he 
moved  he  was  the  benefactor.  It  is  of  course  that 
he  should  ride  well,  shoot  well,  sail  well,  keep  house 
well,  administer  affairs  well;  but  he  was  the  best 
talker,  also,  in  the  company :  what  Avith  a  per 
petual  practical  wisdom,  with  an  eye  always  to  the 
working  of  the  thing,  what  with  the  multitude  and 
distinction  of  his  facts  (and  one  detected  continu 
ally  that  he  had  a  hand  in  everything  that  has 
been  done),  and  in  the  temperance  with  which  he 
parried  all  offence  and  opened  the  eyes  of  the  per 
son  he  talked  with  without  contradicting  him.  Yet 
I  said  to  myself,  How  little  this  man  suspects,  with 
his  sympathy  for  men  and  his  respect  for  lettered 
and  scientific  people,  that  he  is  not  likely,  in  any 
company,  to  meet  a  man  superior  to  himself.  And 
I  think  this  is  a  good  country  that  can  bear  such  a 
creature  as  he  is.  _; 

The  young  men  in  America  at  this  moment  take 
little  thought  of  what  men  in  England  are  thinking 
or  doing.  That  is  the  point  which  decides  the  wel 
fare  of  a  people  ;  whic7i  way  does  it  look  ?  If  to 
any  other  people,  it  is  not  well  with  them.  If  occu 
pied  in  its  own  affairs  and  thoughts  and  men,  with 


102  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

a  heat  which  excludes  almost  the  notice  of  any 
other  people,  —  as  the  Jews,  the  Greeks,  the  Per 
sians,  the  Romans,  the  Arabians,  the  French,  the 
English,  at  their  best  times  have  been,  —  they  are 
snblime  ;  and  we  know  that  in  this  abstraction  they 
are  executing  excellent  work.  Amidst  the  calami 
ties  which  war  has  brought  on  onr  country  this  one 
benefit  has  accrued,  —  that  our  eyes  are  withdrawn 
from  England,  withdrawn  from  France,  and  look 
homeward.  We  have  come  to  feel  that  "  by  our 
selves  our  safety  must  be  bought ;  "  to  know  the 
vast  resources  of  the  continent,  the  good-will  that 
is  in  the  people,  their  conviction  of  the  great  moral 
advantages  of  freedom,  social  equality,  education 
and  religious  culture,  and  their  determination  to 
hold  these  fast,  and,  by  them,  to  hold  fast  the  coun 
try  and  penetrate  every  square  mile  of  it  with  this 
American  civilization. 

The  consolation  and  happy  moment  of  life,  aton 
ing  for  all  short-comings,  is  sentiment ;  a  flame  of 
affection  or  delight  in  the  heart,  burning  up  sud 
denly  for  its  objects; — as  the  love  of  the  mother 
for  her  child  ;  of  the  child  for  its  mate  ;  of  the  youth 
for  his  friend  ;  of  the  scholar  for  his  pursuit ;  of  the 
boy  for  sea-life,  or  for  painting,  or  in  the  passion 
for  his  country ;  or  in  the  tender-hearted  philan 
thropist  to  spend  and  be  spent  for  some  romantic 
charity,  as  Howard  for  the  prisoner,  or  John  Brown 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  103 

for  the  slave.  No  matter  what  the  object  is,  so  it 
be  good,  this  flame  of  desire  makes  life  sweet  and 
tolerable.  It  reinforces  the  heart  that  feels  it, 
makes  all  its  acts  and  words  gracious  and  interest 
ing.  Now  society  in  towns  is  infested  by  persons 
who,  seeing  that  the  sentiments  please,  counterfeit 
the  expression  of  them.  These  we  call  sentimental 
ists, —  talkers  who  mistake  the  description  for  the 
thing,  saying  for  having.  They  have,  they  tell  you, 
an  intense  love  of  nature ;  poetry,  — r  O,  they  adore 
poetry,  —  and  roses,  and  the  moon,  and  the  cavalry 
regiment,  and  the  governor ;  they  love  liberty, 
"  dear  liberty !  "  they  worship  virtue,  "  dear  vir 
tue  !  "  Yes,  they  adopt  whatever  merit  is  in  good 
repute,  and  almost  make  it  hateful  with  their 
praise.  The  warmer  their  expressions,  the  colder 
we  feel ;  we  shiver  with  cold.  A  little  experience 
acquaints  us  with  the  unconvertibility  of  the  senti 
mentalist,  the  soul  that  is  lost  by  mimicking  soul. 
Cure  the  drunkard,  heal  the  insane,  mollify  the 
homicide,  civilize  the  Pawnee,  but  what  lessons  can 
be  devised  for  the  debauchee  of  sentiment  ?  Was 
ever  one  converted  ?  The  innocence  and  ignorance 
of  the  patient  is  the  first  difficulty ;  he  believes  his 
disease  is  blooming  health.  A  rough  realist  or  a 
phalanx  of  realists  would  be  prescribed ;  but  that  is 
like  proposing  to  mend  your  bad  road  with  dia 
monds.  Then  poverty,  famine,  war,  imprisonment, 


104  SOCIAL  AIMS. 

might  be  tried.  Another  cure  would  be  to  fight 
fire  with  fire,  to  match  a  sentimentalist  with  a  sen 
timentalist.  I  think  each  might  begin  to  suspect 
that  something  was  wrong.  ) 

Would  we  codify  the  laws  that  should  reign  in 
households,  and  whose  daily  transgression  annoys 
and  mortifies  us  and  degrades  our  household  life, 
we  must  learn  to  adorn  every  day  with  sacrifices. 
Good  manners  are  made  up  of  petty  sacrifices. 
Temperance,  courage,  love,  are  made  up  of  the  same 
jewels.  Listen  to  every  prompting  of  honor.  "As 
soon  as  sacrifice  becomes  a  duty  and  necessity  to 
the  man,  I  see  no  limit  to  the  horizon  which  opens 
before  me.  "  l 

Of  course  those  people,  and  no  others,  interest  us, 
who  believe  in  their  thought,  who  are  absorbed,  if 
you  please  to  say  so,  in  their  own  dream.  They 
only  can  give  the  key  and  leading  to  better  society : 
those  who  delight  in  each  other  only  because  both 
delight  in  the  eternal  laws  ;  who  forgive  nothing  to 
each  other  ;  who,  by  their  joy  and  homage  to  these, 
are  made  incapable  of  conceit,  which  destroys  al 
most  all  the  fine  wits.  Any  other  affection  be 
tween  men  than  this  geometric  one  of  relation  to 
the  same  thing,  is  a  mere  mush  of  materialism. 

These  are  the  bases  of  civil  and  polite  society ; 
namely,  manners,  conversation,  lucrative  labor,  and 
1  Ernest  Kenan. 


SOCIAL  AIMS.  105 

public  action ;  whether  political,  or  in  the  leading 
of  social  institutions.  We  have  much  to  regret, 
much  to  mend,  in  our  society ;  but  I  believe  that 
with  all  liberal  and  hopeful  men  there  is  a  firm 
faith  in  the  beneficent  results  which  \ve  really  en 
joy  ;  that  intelligence,  manly  enterprise,  good  educa 
tion,  virtuous  life  and  elegant  manners  have  been 
and  are  found  here,  and,  we  hope,  in  the  next  gen 
eration  will  still  more  abound. 


ELOQUENCE. 


ELOQUENCE. 


I  DO  not  know  any  kind  of  history,  except  the 
event  of  a  battle,  to  which  people  listen  with  more 
interest  than  to  any  anecdote  of  eloquence  ;  and  the 
wise  think  it  better  than  a  battle.  It  is  a  triumph 
of  pure  power,  and  it  has  a  beautiful  and  prodigious 
surprise  in  it.  For  all  can  see  and  understand  the 
means  by  which  a  battle  is  gained  :  they  count  the 
armies,  they  see  the  cannon,  the  musketry,  the  cav 
alry,  and  the  character  and  advantages  of  the 
ground,  so  that  the  result  is  often  predicted  by  the 
observer  with  great  certainty  before  the  charge  is 
sounded.  Not  so  in  a  court  of  law,  or  in  a  legisla 
ture.  Who  knows  before  the  debate  begins  what 
the  preparation,  or  what  the  means  are  of  the  com 
batants  ?  The  facts,  the  reasons,  the  logic,  —  above 
all,  the  flame  of  passion  and  the  continuous  energy 
of  will  which  is  presently  to  be  let  loose  on  this 
bench  of  judges,  or  on  this  miscellaneous  assembly 
gathered  from  the  streets,  —  are  all  invisible  and 
unknown.  Indeed,  much  power  is  to  be  exhibited 
which  is  not  yet  called  into  existence,  but  is  to  be 


110  ELOQUENCE. 

suggested  on  the  spot  by  the  unexpected  turn  things 
may  take,  —  at  the  appearance  of  new  evidence,  or 
by  the  exhibition  of  an  unlooked-for  bias  in  the 
judges  or  in  the  audience.  It  is  eminently  the  art 
which  only  flourishes  in  free  countries.  It  is  an  old 
proverb  that  "  Every  people  has  its  prophet ;  "  and 
every  class  of  the  people  has.  Our  community  runs 
through  a  long  scale  of  mental  power,  from  the 
highest  refinement  to  the  borders  of  savage  igno 
rance  and  rudeness.  There  are  not  only  the  wants 
of  the  intellectual  and  learned  and  poetic  men  and 
women  to  be  met,  but  also  the  vast  interests  of 
property,  public  and  private,  of  mining,  of  manufac 
tures,  of  trade,  of  railroads,  etc.  These  must  have 
their  advocates  of  each  improvement  and  each  in 
terest.  Then  the  political  questions,  which  agitate 
millions,  findforVorm  a  class  of  men  by  nature  and 

\~S 

habit  fit  to  discuss  and  deal  with  these  measures, 
arid  make  them  intelligible  and  acceptable  to  the 
electors.  So  of  education,  of  art,  of  philanthropy. 
Eloquence  shows  the  power  and  possibility  of 
man.  There  is  one  of  whom  we  took  no  note,  but 
on  a  certain  occasion  it  appears  that  he  has  a  secret 
virtue  never  suspected,  —  that  he  can  paint  what 
has  occurred  and  what  must  occur,  with  such  clear 
ness  to  a  company,  as  if  they  saw  it  done  before 
their  eyes.  By  leading  their  thought  he  leads  their 
will,  and  can  make  them  do  gladly  what  an  hour 


ELOQUENCE.  Ill 

ago  they  would  not  believe  that  they  could  be  led 
to  do  at  all :  he  makes  them  glad  or  angry  or  peni 
tent  at  his  pleasure ;  of  enemies  makes  friends,  and 
fills  desponding  men  with  hope  and  joy.  After 
Sheridan's  speech  in  the  trial  of  Warren  Hastings, 
Mr.  Pitt  moved  an  adjournment,  that  the  House 
might  recover  from  the  overpowering  effect  of 
Sheridan's  oratory.  Then  recall  the  delight  that 
sudden  eloquence  gives,  —  the  surprise  that  the 
moment  is  so  rich.  The  orator  is  the  physician. 
Whether  he  speaks  in  the  Capitol  or  on  a  cart,  he 
is  the  benefactor  that  lifts  men  above  themselves, 
and  creates  a  higher  appetite  than  he  satisfies.  The 
orator  is  he  whom  every  man  is  seeking  when  he  goes 
into  the  courts,  into  the  conventions,  into  any  popu 
lar  assembly,  —  though  often  disappointed,  yet  never 
giving  over  the  hope.  He  finds  himself  perhaps  iii 
the  Senate,  when  the  forest  has  cast  out  some  wild, 
black-browed  bantling  to  show  the  same  energy 
in  the  crowd  of  officials  which  he  had  learned  in 
driving  cattle  to  the  hills,  or  in  scrambling  through 
thickets  in  a  winter  forest,  or  through  the  swamp 
and  river  for  his  game.  In  the  folds  of  his  brow, 
in  the  majesty  of  his  mien,  Nature  has  marked  her 
son ;  and  in  that  artificial  and  perhaps  unworthy 
place  and  company  shall  remind  you  of  the  lessons 
taught  him  in  earlier  days  by  the  torrent  in  the 
gloom  of  the  pine-woods,  when  he  was  the  ccm- 


112  ELOQUENCE. 

panion  of  the  mountain  cattle,  of  jays  and  foxes, 
and  a  hunter  of  the  bear.  Or  you  may  find  him  in 
some  lowly  Bethel,  by  the  seaside,  where  a  hard- 
featured,  scarred,  and  wrinkled  Methodist  becomes 
the  poet  of  the  sailor  and  the  fisherman,  whilst 
he  pours  out  the  abundant  streams  of  his  thought 
through  a  language  all  glittering  and  fiery  with 
imagination  ;  a  man  who  never  knew  the  looking- 
glass  or  the  critic ;  a  man  whom  college  drill  or 
patronage  never  made,  and  whom  praise  cannot 
spoil,  —  a  man  who  conquers  his  audience  by  in 
fusing  his  soul  into  them,  and  speaks  by  the  right 
of  being  the  person  in  the  assembly  who  has  the 
most  to  say,  and  so  makes  all  other  speakers  appear 
little  and  cowardly  before  his  face.  For  the  time, 
his  exceeding  life  throws  all  other  gifts  into  shade, 
—  philosophy  speculating  on  its  own  breath,  taste, 
learning,  and  all, —  and  yet  how  every  listener 
gladly  consents  to  be  nothing  in  his  presence,  and 
to  share  this  surprising  emanation,  and  be  steeped 
and  ennobled  in  the  new  wine  of  this  eloquence ! 
It  instructs  in  the  power  of  man  over  men  ;  that  a 
man  is  a  mover ;  to  the  extent  of  his  being,  a  power; 
and,  in  contrast  with  the  efficiency  he  suggests,  our 
actual  life  and  society  appears  a  dormitory.  Who 
can  wonder  at  its  influence  on  young  and  ardent 
minds  ?  Uncommon  boys  follow  uncommon  men ; 
and  I  think  every  one  of  us  can  remember  when 


ELOQUENCE.  113 

our  first  experiences  made  us  for  a  time  the  victim 
and  worshipper  of  the  first  master  of  this  art  whom 
we  happened  to  hear  in  the  court-house  or  in  the 
caucus. 

We  reckon  the  bar,  the  senate,  journalism,  and 
the  pulpit,  peaceful  professions ;  but  you  cannot  es 
cape  the  demand  for  courage  in  these,  and  cer 
tainly  there  is  no  true  orator  who  is  not  a  hero. 
His  attitude  in  the  rostrum,  on  the  platform,  re 
quires  that  he  counterbalance  his  auditory.  He  is 
challenger,  and  must  answer  all  comers.  The  ora 
tor  must  ever  stand  with  forward  foot,  in  the  atti 
tude  of  advancing.  His  speech  must  be  just  ahead 
of  the  assembly,  ahead  of  the  whole  human  race, 
or  it  is  superfluous.  His  speech  is  not  to  be  dis 
tinguished  from  action.  It  is  the  electricity  of  ac 
tion.  It  is  action,  as  the  general's  word  of  com 
mand  or  chart  of  battle  is  action.  I  must  feel  that 
the  speaker  compromises  himself  to  his  auditory, 
comes  for  something,  —  it  is  a  cry  on  the  perilous 
edge  of  the  fight,  —  or  let  him  be  silent.  You  go 
to  a  town-meeting  where  the  people  are  called  to 
some  disagreeable  duty,  such  as,  for  example,  often 
occurred  during  the  war,  at  the  occasion  of  a  new 
draft.  They  come  unwillingly ;  they  have  spent 
their  money  once  or  twice  very  freely.  They  have 
sent  their  best  men ;  the  young  and  ardent,  those 
of  a  martial  temper,  went  at  the  first  draft,  or  the 


VOL.   VIII. 


114  ELOQUENCE. 

second,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  see  who  else  can  be 
spared  or  can  be  induced  to  go.  The  silence  and 
coldness  after  the  meeting  is  opened  and  the  pur 
pose  of  it  stated,  are  not  encouraging.  When  a 
good  man  rises  in  the  cold  and  malicious  assembly, 
you  think,  "Well,  sir,  it  would  be  more  prudent  to 
be  silent ;  why  not  rest,  sir,  on  your  good  record  ? 
Nobody  doubts  your  talent  and  power,  but  for  the 
present  business,  we  know  all  about  it,  and  are 
tired  of  being  pushed  into  patriotism  by  people  who 
stay  at  home.  But  he,  taking  no  counsel  of  past 
things  but  only  of  the  inspiration  of  his  to-day's 
feeling,  surprises  them  with  his  tidings,  with  his 
better  knowledge,  his  larger  view,  his  steady  gaze 
at  the  new  and  future  event  whereof  they  had  not 
thought,  and  they  are  interested  like  so  many  chil 
dren,  and  carried  off  out  of  all  recollection  of  their 
malignant  considerations,  and  he  gains  his  victory 
by  prophecy,  where  they  expected  repetition.  He 
knew  very  well  beforehand  that  they  were  looking 
behind  and  that  he  was  looking  ahead,  and  there 
fore  it  was  wise  to  speak.  Then  the  observer  says, 
What  a  godsend  is  this  manner  of  man  to  a  town ! 
and  he,  what  a  faculty !  He  is  put  together  like  a 
Waltham  watch,  or  like  a  locomotive  just  finished 
at  the  Tredegar  works. 

No  act  indicates  more  universal  health  than  elo 
quence.     The  special  ingredients  of  this  force  are 


ELOQUENCE.  115 

clear  perceptions ;  memory ;  power  of  statement ; 
logic ;  imagination,  or  the  skill  to  clothe  your 
thought  in  natural  images ;  passion,  which  is  the 
heat;  and  then  a  grand  will,  which,  when  legitimate 
and  abiding,  we  call  character,  the  height  of  man 
hood.  As  soon  as  a  man  shows  rare  power  of  ex 
pression,  like  Chatham,  Erskine,  Patrick  Henry, 
Webster,  or  Phillips,  all  the  great  interests,  whether 
of  state  or  of  property,  crowd  to  him  to  be  their 
spokesman,  so  that  he  is  at  once  a  potentate,  a  ruler 
of  men.  A  worthy  gentleman,  Mr.  Alexander,  lis 
tening  to  the  debates  of  the  General  Assembly  of 
the  Scottish  Kirk  in  Edinburgh,  and  eager  to  speak 
to  the  questions  but  utterly  failing  in  his  endeavors, 
— delighted  with  the  talent  shown  by  Dr.  Hugh 
Blair,  went  to  him  and  offered  him  one  thousand 
pounds  sterling  if  he  would  teach  him  to  speak 
with  propriety  in  public.  If  the  performance  of 
the  advocate  reaches  any  high  success  it  is  paid  in 
England  with  dignities  in  the  professions,  and  in 
the  State  with  seats  in  the  cabinet,  earldoms,  and 
woolsacks.  And  it  is  easy  to  see  that  the  great 
and  daily  growing  interests  at  stake  in  this  country 
must  pay  proportional  prices  to  their  spokesmen 
and  defenders.  It  does  not  surprise  us  then  to 
learn  from  Plutarch  what  great  sums  were  paid  at 
Athens  to  the  teachers  of  rhetoric  ;  and  if  the  pu 
pils  got  what  they  paid  for,  the  lessons  were  cheap. 


116  ELOQUENCE. 

But  this  power  which  so  fascinates  and  astonishes 
and  commands  is  only  the  exaggeration  of  a  talent 
which  is  universal.  All  men  are  competitors  in 
this  art.  We  have  all  attended  meetings  called  for 
some  object  in  which  no  one  had  beforehand  any 
warm  interest.  Every  speaker  rose  unwillingly, 
and  even  his  speech  was  a  bad  excuse ;  but  it  is 
only  the  first  plunge  which  is  formidable ;  and 
deep  interest  or  sympathy  thaws  the  ice,  loosens 
the  tongue,  and  will  carry  the  cold  and  fearful  pres 
ently  into  self-possession  and  possession  of  the  au 
dience.  Go  into  an  assembly  well  excited,  some 
angry  political  meeting  on  the  eve  of  a  crisis. 
Then  it  appears  that  eloquence  is  as  natural  as 
swimming,  —  an  art  which  all  men  might  learn, 
though  so  few  do.  It  only  needs  that  they  should 
be  once  well  pushed  off  into  the  water,  overhead, 
without  corks,  and,  after  a  mad  struggle  or  two  they 
find  their  poise  and  the  use  of  their  arms,  and 
henceforward  they  possess  this  new  and  wonderful 
element. 

The  most  hard  -  fisted,  disagreeably  restless, 
thought-paralyzing  companion  sometimes  turns  out 
in  a  public  assembly  to  be  a  fluent,  various,  and 
effective  orator.  Now  you  find  what  all  that  ex 
cess  of  power  which  so  chafed  and  fretted  you  in  a 
tete-d-tete  with  him  was  for.  What  is  peculiar  in 
it  is  a  certain  creative  heat,  which  a  man  attains  to 


ELOQUENCE.  117 

perhaps  only  once  in  his  life.  Those  whom  we  ad 
mire —  the  great  orators  —  have  some  habit  of  heat, 
and  moreover  a  certain  control  of  it,  an  art  of  hus 
banding  it,  —  as  if  their  hand  was  on  the  organ- 
stop,  and  could  now  use  it  temperately,  and  now 
let  out  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  power.  I 
remember  that  Jenny  Lind,  when  in  this  country, 
complained  of  concert-rooms  and  town-halls,  that 
they  did  not  give  her  room  enough  to  unroll  her 
voice,  and  exulted  in  the  opportunity  given  her  in 
the  great  halls  she  found  sometimes  built  over  a 
railroad  depot.  And  this  is  quite  as  true  of  the 
action  of  the  mind  itself,  that  a  man  of  this  talent 
sometimes  finds  himself  cold  and  slow  in  private 
company,  and  perhaps  a  heavy  companion ;  but 
give  him  a  commanding  occasion  and  the  inspira 
tion  of  a  great  multitude,  and  he  surprises  by  new 
and  unlooked-for  powers.  Before,  he  was  out  of 
place,  and  unfitted  as  a  cannon  in  a  parlor.  To  be 
sure  there  are  physical  advantages,  —  some  emi 
nently  leading  to  this  art.  I  mentioned  Jenny 
Lind's  voice.  A  good  voice  has  a  charm  in  speech 
as  in  song  ;  sometimes  of  itself  enchains  attention, 
and  indicates  a  rare  sensibility,  especially  when 
trained  to  wield  all  its  powers.  The  voice,  like  the 
face,  betrays  the  nature  and  disposition,  and  soon 
indicates  what  is  the  range  of  the  speaker's  mind. 
Many  people  have  no  ear  for  music,  but  every  one 


118  ELOQUENCE. 

has  an  ear  for  skilful  reading.  Every  one  of  us 
has  at  some  time  been  the  victim  of  a  well-toned 
and  cunning  voice,  and  perhaps  been  repelled  once 
for  all  by  a  harsh,  mechanical  speaker.  The  voice, 
indeed,  is  a  delicate  index  of  the  state  of  mind.  I 
have  heard  an  eminent  preacher  say  that  he  learns 
from  the  first  tones  of  his  voice  on  a  Sunday  morn 
ing  whether  he  is  to  have  a  successful  day.  A 
singer  cares  little  for  the  words  of  the  song ;  he 
will  make  any  words  glorious.  I  think  the  like 
rule  holds  of  the  good  reader.  In  the  church  I 
call  him  only  a  good  reader  who  can  read  sense 
and  poetry  into  any  hymn  in  the  hymn-book.  Plu 
tarch,  in  his  enumeration  of  the  ten  Greek  orators, 
is  careful  to  mention  their  excellent  voices,  and  the 
pains  bestowed  by  some  of  them  in  training  these. 
What  character,  what  infinite  variety  belong  to  the 
voice  !  sometimes  it  is  a  flute,  sometimes  a  trip 
hammer  ;  what  range  of  force !  In  moments  of 
clearer  thought  or  deeper  sympathy,  the  voice  will 
attain  a  music  and  penetration  which  surprises  the 
speaker  as  much  as  the  auditor ;  he  also  is  a  sharer 
of  the  higher  wind  that  blows  over  his  strings.  I 
believe  that  some  orators  go  to  the  assembly  as  to  a 
closet  where  to  find  their  best  thoughts.  The  Per 
sian  poet  Saadi  tells  us  that  a  person  with  a  disa 
greeable  voice  was  reading  the  Koran  aloud,  when 
a  holy  man,  passing  by,  asked  what  was  his  monthly 


ELOQUENCE.  119 

stipend.  He  answered,  "  Nothing  at  all."  "  But 
why  then  do  you  take  so  much  trouble?"  He  re 
plied,  "  I  read  for  the  sake  of  God."  The  other 
rejoined,  "  For  God's  sake,  do  not  read ;  for  if  you 
read  the  Koran  in  this  manner  you  will  destroy  the 
splendor  of  Islamism."  Then  there  are  persons  of 
natural  fascination,  with  certain  frankness,  win 
ning  manners,  almost  endearments  in  their  style ; 
like  Bouillon,  who  could  almost  persuade  you  that 
a  quartan  ague  was  wholesome ;  like  Louis  XI.  of 
France,  whom  Commines  praises  for  "the  gift  of 
managing  all  minds  by  his  accent  and  the  caresses 
of  his  speech  ; "  like  Galiani,  Voltaire,  Robert 
Burns,  Barclay,  Fox,  and  Henry  Clay.  What 
must  have  been  the  discourse  of  St.  Bernard,  when 
mothers  hid  their  sons,  wives  their  husbands,  com 
panions  their  friends,  lest  they  should  be  led  by  his 
eloquence  to  join  the  monastery. 

It  is  said  that  one  of  the  best  readers  in  his  time 
was  the  late  President  John  Quincy  Adams.  I 
have  heard  that  no  man  could  read  the  Bible  with 
such  powerful  effect.  I  can  easily  believe  it,  though 
I  never  heard  him  speak  in  public  until  his  fine 
voice  was  much  broken  by  age.  But  the  wonders  he 
could  achieve  with  that  cracked  and  disobedient  or 
gan  showed  what  power  might  have  belonged  to  it 
in  early  manhood.  If  "  indignation  makes  verses," 
as  Horace  says,  it  is  not  less  true  that  a  good  indig- 


120  ELOQUENCE. 

nation  makes  an  excellent  speech.  In  the  early 
years  of  this  century,  Mr.  Adams,  at  that  time  a 
member  of  the  United  States  Senate  at  "Washino-- 

O 

ton,  was  elected  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  Oratory 
in  Harvard  College.  When  he  read  his  first  lec 
tures  in  1806,  not  only  the  students  heard  him  with 
delight,  but  the  hall  was  crowded  by  the  Professors 
and  by  unusual  visitors.  I  remember,  when,  long 
after,  I  entered  college,  hearing  the  story  of  the 
numbers  of  coaches  in  which  his  friends  came  from 
Boston  to  hear  him.  On  his  return  in  the  winter 
to  the  Senate  at  Washington,  he  took  such  ground 
in  the  debates  of  the  following  session  as  to  lose  the 
sympathy  of  many  of  his  constituents  in  Boston. 
When,  on  his  return  from  Washington,  he  resumed 
his  lectures  in  Cambridge,  his  class  attended,  but 
the  coaches  from  Boston  did  not  come,  and  indeed 
many  of  his  political  friends  deserted  him.  In  1809 
he  was  appointed  Minister  to  Eussia,  and  resigned 
his  chair  in  the  University.  His  last  lecture,  in 
taking  leave  of  his  class,  contained  some  nervous 
allusions  to  the  treatment  he  had  received  from  his 
old  friends,  which  showed  how  much  it  had  stung 
him,  and  which  made  a  profound  impression  on  the 
class.  Here  is  the  concluding  paragraph,  which 
long  resounded  in  Cambridge  :  — 

"  At  no  hour  of  your  life  will  the  love  of  letters  ever 
oppress  you  as  a  burden,  or  fail  you  as  a  resource.     In 


ELOQUENCE.  121 

the  vain  and  foolish  exultation  of  the  heart,  which  the 
brighter  prospects  of  life  will  sometimes  excite,  the  pen 
sive  portress  of  Science  shall  call  you  to  the  sober  pleas 
ures  of  her  holy  cell.  In  the  mortifications  of  disap 
pointment,  her  soothing  voice  shall  whisper  serenity  and 
peace.  In  social  converse  with  the  mighty  dead  of  an 
cient  days,  you  will  never  smart  under  the  galling  sense 
of  dependence  upon  the  mighty  living  of  the  present  age. 
And  in  your  struggles  with  the  world,  should  a  crisis 
ever  occur  when  even  friendship  may  deem  it  prudent 
to  desert  you,  when  even  your  country  may  seem  ready 
to  abandon  herself  and  you,  when  priest  and  Levite  shall 
come  and  lock  on  you  and  pass  by  on  the  other  side, 
seek  refuge,  my  ««f  ailing  friends,  and  be  assured  you 
shall  find  it,  in  the  friendship  of  LaBlius  and  Scipio,  in 
the  patriotism  of  Cicero,  Demosthenes,  and  Burke,  as 
well  as  in  the  precepts  and  example  of  Him  whose  law 
is  love,  and  who  taught  us  to  remember  injuries  only  to 
forgive  them." 

The  orator  must  command  the  whole  scale  of  the 
language,  from  the  most  elegant  to  the  most  low  and 
vile.  Every  one  lias  felt  how  superior  in  force  is 
the  language  of  the  street  to  that  of  the  academy. 
The  street  must  be  one  of  his  schools.  Ought  not 
the  scholar  to  be  able  to  convey  his  meaning  in 
terms  as  short  and  strong  as  the  porter  or  truck 
man  uses  to  convey  his  ?  And  Lord  Chesterfield 
thought  that  "  without  being  instructed  in  the  dia 
lect  of  the  Holies  no  man  could  be  a  complete  nias- 


122  ELOQUENCE. 

ter  of  French."  The  speech  of  the  man  in  the  street 
is  invariably  strong,  nor  can  you  mend  it  by  mak 
ing  it  what  you  call  parliamentary.  You  say,  "  If 
he  could  only  express  himself  ;  "  but  he  does  al 
ready,  better  than  any  one  can  for  him,  —  can  al 
ways  get  the  ear  of  an  audience  to  the  exclusion  of 
everybody  else.  Well,  this  is  an  example  in  point. 
That  something  which  each  man  was  created  to  say 
and  do,  he  only  or  he  best  can  tell  you,  and  has  a 
right  to  supreme  attention  so  far.  The  power  of 
their  speech  is,  that  it  is  perfectly  understood  by 
all ;  and  I  believe  it  to  be  true  that  when  any  ora 
tor  at  the  bar  or  the  Senate  rises  in  his  thought,  he 
descends  in  his  language, — that  is,  when  he  rises 
to  any  height  of  thought  or  of  passion  he  comes 
down  to  a  language  level  with  the  ear  of  all  his  au 
dience.  It  is  the  merit  of  John  Brown  and  of 
Abraham  Lincoln  —  one  at  Charlestown,  one  at 
Gettysburg  —  in  the  two  best  specimens  of  elo 
quence  we  have  had  in  this  country.  And  observe 
that  all  poetry  is  written  in  the  oldest  and  simplest 
English  words.  Dr.  Johnson  said,  "  There  is  in 
every  nation  a  style  which  never  becomes  obsolete, 
a  certain  mode  of  phraseology  so  consonant  to  the 
analogy  and  principles  of  its  respective  language 
as  to  remain  settled  and  unaltered.  This  style  is  to 
be  sought  in  the  common  intercourse  of  life  among 
those  who  speak  only  to  be  understood,  without  am- 


ELOQUENCE.  123 

bition  of  elegance.  The  polite  are  always  catching 
modish  innovations,  and  the  learned  forsake  the 
vulgar,  when  the  vulgar  is  right ;  but  there  is  a  con 
versation  above  grossness  and  below  refinement, 
where  propriety  resides." 

But  all  these  are  tho  gymnastics,  the  education  of 
eloquence,  and  not  itself.  They  cannot  be  too  much 
considered  and  practised  as  preparation,  but  the 
powers  are  those  I  first  named.  If  I  should  make 
the  shortest  list  of  the  qualifications  of  the  orator,  I 
should  begin  with  manliness  ;  and  perhaps  it  means 
here  presence  of  mind.  Men  differ  so  much  in  con 
trol  of  their  faculties !  You  can  find  in  many,  and 
indeed  in  all,  a  certain  fundamental  equality.  Fun 
damentally  all  feel  alike  and  think  alike,  and  at  a 
great  heat  they  can  all  express  themselves  with  an 
almost  equal  force.  But  it  costs  a  great  heat  to  en 
able  a  heavy  man  to  come  up  with  those  who  have 
a  quick  sensibility.  Thus  we  have  all  of  us  known 
men  who  lose  their  talents,  their  wit,  their  fancy,  at 
any  sudden  call.  Some  men,  011  such  pressure,  col 
lapse,  and  cannot  rally.  If  they  are  to  put  a  thing 
in  proper  shape,  fit  for  the  occasion  and  the  audi 
ence,  their  mind  is  a  blank*  Something  which  any 
boy  would  tell  with  color  and  vivacity  they  can  only 
stammer  out  with  hard  literalness,  —  say  it  in  the 
very  words  they  heard,  and  no  other.  This  fault  is 
very  incident  to  men  of  study,  —  as  if  the  more 


124  ELOQUENCE. 

they  had  read  the  less  they  knew.  Dr.  Charles 
Chauney  was,  a  hundred  years  ago,  a  man  of 
marked  ability  among  the  clergy  of  New  England. 
But  when  once  going  to  preach  the  Thursday  lec 
ture  in  Boston  (which  in  those  days  people  walked 
from  Salem  to  hear),  on  going  up  the  pulpit- 
stairs  he  was  informed  that  a  little  boy  had  fallen 
into  Frog  Pond  on  the  Common  and  was  drowned, 
and  the  doctor  was  requested  to  improve  the  sad 
occasion.  The  doctor  was  much  distressed,  and  in 
his  prayer  he  hesitated,  he  tried  to  make  soft  ap 
proaches,  he  prayed  for  Harvard  College,  he  prayed 
for  the  schools,  he  implored  the  Divine  Being  "to  — 
to — to  bless  to  them  all  the  boy  that  was  this  morn 
ing  drowned  in  Frog  Pond."  Now  this  is  not  want 
of  talent  or  learning,  but  of  manliness.  The  doctor, 
no  doubt,  shut  up  in  his  closet  and  his  theology,  had 
lost  some  natural  relation  to  men,  and  quick  applica 
tion  of  his  thought  to  the  course  of  events.  I  should 
add  what  is  told  of  him,  —  that  he  so  disliked  the 
"  sensation "  preaching  of  his  time,  that  he  had 
once  prayed  that  "  he  might  never  be  eloquent ;  " 
and,  it  appears,  his  prayer  was  granted.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  would  be  easy  to  point  to  many  mas 
ters  whose  readiness  is  sure ;  as  the  French  say  of 
Guizot,  that  "  what  Guizot  learned  this  morning  he 
has  the  air  of  having  known  from  all  eternity." 
This  unmanliness  is  so  common  a  result  of  our  half- 


ELOQUENCE.  125 

education,  —  teaching  a  youth  Latin  and  metaphy 
sics  and  history,  and  neglecting  to  give  him  the 
rough  training  of  a  boy,  —  allowing  him  to  skulk 
from  the  games  of  ball  and  skates  and  coasting 
clown  the  hills  on  his  sled,  and  whatever  else  would 
lead  him  and  keep  him  on  even  terms  with  boys,  so 
that  he  can  meet  them  as  an  equal,  and  lead  in  his 
turn,  —  that  I  wish  his  guardians  to  consider  that 
they  are  thus  preparing  him  to  play  a  contemptible 
part  when  he  is  full-grown.  In  England  they  send 
the  most  delicate  and  protected  child  from  his  lux 
urious  home  to  learn  to  rough  it  with  boys  in  the 
public  schools.  A  few  bruises  and  scratches  will  do 
him  no  harm  if  he  has  thereby  learned  not  to  be 
afraid.  It  is  this  wise  mixture  of  good  drill  in 
Latin  grammar  with  good  drill  in  cricket,  boating, 
and  wrestling,  that  is  the  boast  of  English  educa 
tion,  and  of  high  importance  to  the  matter  in  hand. 
Lord  Ashley,  in  1606,  while  the  bill  for  regulat 
ing  trials  in  cases  of  high  treason  was  pending, 
attempting  to  utter  a  premeditated  speech  in  Par 
liament  in  favor  of  that  clause  of  the  bill  which 
allowed  the  prisoner  the  benefit  of  counsel,  fell  into 
such  a  disorder  that  he  was  not  able  to  proceed  ; 
but,  having  recovered  his  spirits  and  the  command 
of  his  faculties,  he  drew  such  an  argument  from 
his  own  confusion  as  more  advantaged  his  cause 
than  all  the  powers  of  eloquence  could  have  done. 


126  ELOQUENCE. 

"  For,"  said  he,  "  if  I,  who  had  no  personal  con 
cern  in  the  question,  was  so  overpowered  with  my 
own  apprehensions  that  I  could  not  find  words  to 
express  myself,  what  must  be  the  case  of  one  whose 
life  depended  on.  his  own  abilities  to  defend  it  ?  " 
This  happy  turn  did  great  service  in  promoting 
that  excellent  bill. 

These  are  ascending  stairs,  —  a  good  voice,  win 
ning  manners,  plain  speech,  chastened,  however,  by 
the  schools  into  correctness  ;  but  we  must  come  to 
the  main  matter,  of  power  of  statement,  —  know 
your  fact ;  hug  your  fact.  For  the  essential  thing 
is  heat,  and  heat  comes  of  sincerity.  Speak  what 
you  do  know  and  believe  ;  and  are  personally  in  it; 
and  are  answerable  for  every  word.  Eloquence  is 
the  power  to  translate  a  truth  into  language  per 
fectly  intelligible  to  the  person  to  tuhom  you  speak. 
He  who  would  convince  the  worthy  Mr.  Dunder 
head  of  any  truth  which  Dunderhead  does  not  see, 
must  be  a  master  of  his  art.  Declamation  is  com 
mon  ;  but  such  possession  of  thought  as  is  here  re 
quired,  such  practical  chemistry  as  the  conversion  of 
a  truth  written  in  God's  language  into  a  truth  in 
Dunderhead's  language,  is  one  of  the  most  beauti 
ful  and  cogent  weapons  that  are  forged  in  the  shop 
of  the  Divine  Artificer. 

It  was  said  of  Robespierre's  audience,  that  though 
they  understood  not  the  words,  they  understood  a 


ELOQUENCE.  127 

fury  in  the  words,  and  caught  the  contagion.  This 
leads  us  to  the  high  class,  the  men  of  character, 
who  bring  an  overpowering  personality  into  court, 
and  the  cause  they  maintain  borrows  importance 
from  an  illustrious  advocate.  Absoluteness  is  re 
quired,  and  he  must  have  it  or  simulate  it.  If  the 
cause  be  unfashionable,  he  will  make  it  fashiona- 
able.  'T  is  the  best  man  in  the  best  training.  If 
he  does  not  know  your  fact,  he  will  show  that  it  is 
not  worth  the  knowing.  Indeed,  as  great  generals 
do  not  fight  many  battles,  but  conquer  by  tactics, 
so  all  eloquence  is  a  war  of  posts.  What  is  said  is 
the  least  part  of  the  oration.  It  is  the  attitude 
taken,  the  unmistakable  sign,  never  so  casually 
given,  in  tone  of  voice,  or  manner,  or  word,  that  a 
greater  spirit  speaks  from  you  than  is  spoken  to  in 
him. 

But  I  say,  provided  your  cause  is  really  honest. 
There  is  always  the  previous  question :  How  came 
you  on  that  side  ?  Your  argument  is  ingenious, 
your  language  copious,  your  illustrations  brilliant, 
but  your  major  proposition  palpably  absurd.  Will 
you  establish  a  lie  ?  You  are  a  very  elegant  writer, 
but  you  can't  write  up  what  gravitates  down. 

An  ingenious  metaphysical  writer,  Dr.  Stirling, 
of  Edinburgh,  has  noted  that  intellectual  works  in 
any  department  breed  each  other,  by  what  he  calls 
zymosis,  i.  e.  fermentation ;  thus  in  the  Elizabethan 


128  ELOQUENCE. 

Age  there  was  a  dramatic  zymosis,  when  all  the 
genius  ran  in  that  direction,  until  it  culminated  in 
Shakspeare  ;  so  in  Germany  we  have  seen  a  meta 
physical  zymosis  culminating  in  Kant,  Schelling, 
Schleiermacher,  Schopenhauer,  Hegel,  and  so  end 
ing.  To  this  we  might  add  the  great  eras  not  only 
of  painters  but  of  orators.  The  historian  Pater- 
culus  says  of  Cicero,  that  only  in  Cicero's  lifetime 
was  any  great  eloquence  in  Rome  ;  so  it  was  said 
that  no  member  of  either  house  of  the  British  Par 
liament  will  be  ranked  among  the  orators,  whom 
Lord  North  did  not  see,  or  who  did  not  see  Lord 
North.  But  I  should  rather  say  that  when  a  great 
sentiment,  as  religion  or  liberty,  makes  itself  deeply 
felt  in  any  age  or  country,  then  great  orators  ap 
pear.  As  the  Andes  and  Alleghanies  indicate  the 
line  of  the  fissure  in  the  crust  of  the  earth  along 
which  they  were  lifted,  so  the  great  ideas  that  sud 
denly  expand  at  some  moment  the  mind  of  man 
kind,  indicate  themselves  by  orators. 

If  there  ever  was  a  country  where  eloquence  was 
a  power,  it  is  the  United  States.  Here  is  room 
for  every  degree  of  it,  on  every  one  of  its  ascending 
stages, — that  of  useful  speech,  in  our  commercial, 
manufacturing,  railroad,  and  educational  conven 
tions  ;  that  of  political  advice  and  persuasion  on 
the  grandest  theatre,  reaching,  as  all  good  men 
trust,  into  a  vast  future,  and  so  compelling  the  best 


ELOQUENCE.  129 

thought  and  noblest  administrative  ability  that  the 
citizen  can  offer.  And  here  are  the  service  of  sci 
ence,  the  demands  of  art,  and  the  lessons  of  religion 
to  be  brought  home  to  the  instant  practice  of  thirty 
millions  of  people.  Is  it  not  worth  the  ambition 
of  every  generous  youth  to  train  and  arm  his  mind 
with  all  the  resources  of  knowledge,  of  method,  of 
grace,  and  of  character,  to  serve  such  a  constitu 
ency  ? 


VOL.   VIII. 


RESOURCES. 


RESOURCES. 


MEN  are  made  up  of  potencies.  We  are  magnets 
in  an  iron  globe.  We  have  keys  to  all  doors.  We 
are  all  inventors,  each  sailing  out  on  a  voyage  of 
discovery,  guided  each  by  a  private  chart,  of  which 
there  is  no  duplicate.  The  world  is  all  gates,  all 
opportunities,  strings  of  tension  waiting  to  be 
struck ;  the  earth  sensitive  as  iodine  to  light ;  the 
most  plastic  and  impressionable  medium,  alive  to 
every  touch,  and,  whether  searched  by  the  plough 
of  Adam,  the  sword  of  Caesar,  the  boat  of  Colum 
bus,  the  telescope  of  Galileo,  or  the  surveyor's  chain 
of  Picard,  or  the  submarine  telegraph,  —  to  every 
one  of  these  experiments  it  makes  a  gracious  re 
sponse,  I  am  benefited  by  every  observation  of  a 
victory  of  man  over  nature ;  by  seeing  that  wisdom 
is  better  than  strength  ;  by  seeing  that  every  healthy 
and  resolute  man  is  an  organizer,  a  method  coming 
into  a  confusion  and  drawing  order  out  of  it.  We 
are  touched  and  cheered  by  every  such  example. 
We  like  to  see  the  inexhaustible  riches  of  Nature, 
and  the  access  of  every  soul  to  her  magazines. 


134  RESOURCES. 

These  examples  wake  an  infinite  hope,  and  call 
every  man  to  emulation.  A  low,  hopeless  spirit 
puts  out  the  eyes  ;  scepticism  is  slow  suicide.  A 
philosophy  which  sees  only  the  worst;  believes 
neither  in  virtue  nor  in  genius  ;  which  says  't  is  all 
of  no  use,  life  is  eating  us  up,  't  is  only  question 
who  shall  be  last  devoured,  —  dispirits  us  ;  the  sky 
shuts  down  before  us.  A  Schopenhauer,  with  logic 
and  learning  and  wit,  teaching  pessimism,  —  teach 
ing  that  this  is  the  worst  of  all  possible  worlds,  and 
inferring  that  sleep  is  better  than  waking,  and  death 
than  sleep,  —  all  the  talent  in  the  world  cannot  save 
him  from  being  odious.  But  if  instead  of  these 
negatives  you  give  me  affirmatives ;  if  you  tell  me 
that  there  is  always  life  for  the  living ;  that  what 
man  has  done  man  can  do  ;  that  this  world  belongs 
to  the  energetic  ;  that  there  is  always  a  way  to 
everything  desirable ;  that  every  man  is  provided, 
in  the  new  bias  of  his  faculty,  with  a  key  to  nature, 
and  that  man  only  rightly  knows  himself  as  far  as 
he  has  experimented  on  things,  —  I  am  invigorated, 
put  into  genial  and  working  temper ;  the  horizon 
opens,  and  we  are  full  of  good-will  and  gratitude  to 
the  Cause  of  Causes.  I  like  the  sentiment  of  the 
poor  woman  who,  coming  from  a  wretched  garret 
in  an  inland  manufacturing  town  for  the  first  time 
to  the  sea-shore,  gazing  at  the  ocean,  said  she  was 
"  glad  for  once  in  her  life  to  see  something  which 
there  was  enough  of.  " 


RESOURCES.  135 

Our  Copernican  globe  is  a  great  factory  or  shop 
of  power,  with  its  rotating  constellations,  times,  and 
tides.  The  machine  is  of  colossal  size  ;  the  diame 
ter  of  the  water-wheel,  the  arms  of  the  levers  and 
the  volley  of  the  battery  out  of  all  mechanic  meas 
ure  ;  and  it  takes  long  to  understand  its  parts  and 
its  workings.  This  pump  never  sucks  ;  these  screws 
are  never  loose  ;  this  machine  is  never  out  of  gear. 
The  vat,  the  piston,  the  wheels  and  tires,  never  wear 
out,  but  are  self-repairing.  Is  there  any  load  which 
water  cannot  lift  ?  If  there  be,  try  steam ;  or  if 
not  that,  try  electricity,,  Is  there  any  exhausting 
of  these  means  ?  Measure  by  barrels  the  spending 
of  the  brook  that  runs  through  your  field.  Nothing 
is  great  but  the  inexhaustible  wealth  of  Nature. 
She  shows  us  only  surfaces,  but  she  is  million  fath 
oms  deep.  What  spaces  !  what  durations  !  dealing 
with  races  as  merely  preparations  of  somewhat  to 
follow ;  or,  in  humanity,  millions  of  lives  of  men  to 
collect  the  first  observations  on  which  our  astronomy 
is  built-,  millions  of  lives  to  add  only  sentiments 
and  guesses,  which  at  last,  gathered  in  by  an  ear  of 
sensibility,  make  the  furniture  of  the  poet.  See 
how  children  build  up  a  language ;  how  every 
traveller,  every  laborer,  every  impatient  boss  who 
sharply  shortens  the  phrase  or  the  word  to  give  his 
order  quicker,  reducing  it  to  the  lowest  possible 
terms,  and  there  it  must  stay,  —  improves  the  na- 


136  RESOURCES. 

tional  tongue.  What  power  does  Nature  not  owe 
to  her  duration,  of  amassing  infinitesimals  into  cos- 
mical  forces ! 

The  marked  events  in  history,  as  the  emigration 
of  a  colony  to  a  new  and  more  delightful  coast ; 
the  building  of  a  large  ship  ;  the  discovery  of  the 
mariner's  compass,  which  perhaps  the  Phoenicians 
made  ;  the  arrival  among  an  old  stationary  nation 
of  a  more  instructed  race,  with  new  arts  :  —  each 
of  these  events  electrifies  the  tribe  to  which  it  be 
falls  ;  supples  the  tough  barbarous  sinew,  and  brings 
it  into  that  state  of  sensibility  which  makes  the 
transition  to  civilization  possible  and  sure.  By  his 
machines  man  can  dive  and  remain  under  water 
like  a  shark  ;  can  fly  like  a  hawk  in  the  air ;  can 
see  atoms  like  a  gnat ;  can  see  the  system  of  the 
universe  like  Uriel,  the  angel  of  the  sun ;  can  carry 
whatever  loads  a  ton  of  coal  can  lift ;  can  knock 
down  cities  with  his  fist  of  gunpowder ;  can  recover 
the  history  of  his  race  by  the  medals  which  the 
deluge,  and  every  creature,  civil  or  savage  or  brute, 
has  involuntarily  dropped  of  its  existence  ;  and  di 
vine  the  future  possibility  of  the  planet  and  its 
inhabitants  by  his  perception  of  laws  of  nature. 
Ah  !  what  a  plastic  little  creature  he  is  !  so  shifty, 
so  adaptive  !  his  body  a  chest  of  tools,  and  he  mak 
ing  himself  comfortable  in  every  climate,  in  every 
condition. 


RESOURCES.  137 

Here  in  America  are  all  the  wealth  of  soil,  of 
timber,  of  mines,  and  of  the  sea,  put  into  the  pos 
session  of  a  people  who  wield  all  these  wonderful 
machines,  have  the  secret  of  steam,  of  electricity ; 
and  have  the  power  and  habit  of  invention  in  their 
brain.  We  Americans  have  got  suppled  into  the 
state  of  melioration.  Life  is  always  rapid  here, 
but  what  acceleration  to  its  pulse  in  ten  years,  — 
what  in  the  four  years  of  the  war  !  We  have  seen 
the  railroad  and  telegraph  subdue  our  enormous 
geography  ;  we  have  seen  the  snowy  deserts  on  the 
northwest,  seats  of  Esquimaux,  become  lands  of 
promise.  When  our  population,  swarming  west, 
had  reached  the  boundary  of  arable  land,  —  as  if 
to  stimulate  our  energy,  on  the  face  of  the  sterile 
waste  beyond,  the  land  was  suddenly  in  parts  found 
covered  with  gold  and  silver,  floored  with  coal.  It 
was  thought  a  fable,  what  Guthrie,  a  traveller  in 
Persia,  told  us,  that  "  in  Taurida,  in  any  piece  of 
ground  where  springs  of  naphtha  (or  petroleum) 
obtain,  by  merely  sticking  an  iron  tube  in  the  earth 
and  applying  a  light  to  the  upper  end,  the  mineral 
oil  will  burn  till  the  tube  is  decomposed,  or  for  a 
vast  number  of  years."  But  we  have  found  the 
Taurida  in  Pennsylvania  and  Ohio.  If  they  have 
not  the  lamp  of  Aladdin,  they  have  the  Aladdin 
oil.  Resources  of  America !  why,  one  thinks  of  St. 
Simon's  saying,  "  The  Golden  Age  is  not  behind, 


138  RESOURCES. 

but  before  you."  Here  is  man  in  the  Garden  of 
Eden ;  here  the  Genesis  and  the  Exodus.  We 
have  seen  slavery  disappear  like  a  painted  scene  in 
a  theatre  ;  we  have  seen  the  most  healthful  revolu 
tion  in  the  politics  of  the  nation,  —  the  Constitution 
not  only  amended,  but  construed  in  a  new  spirit. 
We  have  seen  China  opened  to  European  and 
American  ambassadors  and  commerce  ;  the  like  in 
Japan  :  our  arts  and  productions  begin  to  penetrate 
both.  As  the  walls  of  a  modern  house  are  perfo 
rated  with  water-pipes,  sound-pipes,  gas-pipes,  heat- 
pipes,  —  so  geography  and  geology  are  yielding  to 
man's  convenience,  and  we  begin  to  perforate  and 
mould  the  old  ball,  as  a  carpenter  does  with  wood. 
All  is  ductile  and  plastic.  We  are  working  the 
new  Atlantic  telegraph.  American  energy  is  over 
riding  every  venerable  maxim  of  political  science. 
America  is  such  a  garden  of  plenty,  such  a  mag 
azine  of  power,  that  at  her  shores  all  the  common 
rules  of  political  economy  utterly  fail.  Here  is 
bread,  and  wealth,  and  power,  and  education  for 
every  man  who  has  the  heart  to  use  his  opportunity. 
The  creation  of  power  had  never  any  parallel.  It 
was  thought  that  the  immense  production  of  gold 
would  make  gold  cheap  as  pewter.  But  the  im 
mense  expansion  of  trade  has  wanted  every  ounce 
of  gold,  and  it  has  not  lost  its  value. 

See  how  nations  of  customers  are  formed.     The 


RESOURCES.  139 

disgust  of  California  has  not  been  able  to  drive  nor 
kick  the  Chinaman  back  to  his  home  ;  and  now  it 
turns  out  that  he  has  sent  home  to  China  American 
food  and  tools  and  luxuries,  until  he  has  taught  his 
people  to  use  them,  and  a  new  market  has  grown 
up  for  our  commerce.  The  emancipation  has 
brought  a  whole  nation  of  negroes  as  customers  to 
buy  all  the  articles  which  once  their  few  masters 
bought,  and  every  manufacturer  and  producer  in 
the  North  has  an  interest  in  protecting  the  negro  as 
the  consumer  of  his  wares. 

The  whole  history  of  our  civil  war  is  rich  in  a  thou 
sand  anecdotes  attesting  the  fertility  of  resource,  the 
presence  of  mind,  the  skilled  labor  of  our  people. 
At  Annapolis  a  regiment,  hastening  to  join  the 
army,  found  the  locomotives  broken,  the  railroad  de 
stroyed,  and  no  rails.  The  commander  called  for 
men  in  the  ranks  who  could  rebuild  the  road.  Many 
men  stepped  forward,  searched  in  the  water,  found 
the  hidden  rails,  laid  the  track,  put  the  disabled 
engine  together  and  continued  their  journey.  The 
world  belongs  to  the  energetic  man.  His  will  gives 
him  new  eyes.  He  sees  expedients  and  means 
where  we  saw  none.  The  invalid  sits  shivering  in 
lamb's-wool  and  furs ;  the  woodsman  knows  how  to 
make  warm  garments  out  of  cold  and  wet  themselves. 
The  Indian,  the  sailor,  the  hunter,  only  these  know 
the  power  of  the  hands,  feet,  teeth,  eyes  and  ears. 


140  RESOURCES. 

It  is  out  of  the  obstacles  to  be  encountered  that 
they  make  the  means  of  destroying  them.  The 
sailor  by  his  boat  and  sail  makes  a  ford  out  of  deep 
est  waters.  The  hunter,  the  soldier,  rolls  himself  in 
his  blanket,  and  the  falling  snow,  which  he  did  not 
have  to  bring  in  his  knapsack,  is  his  eider-down,  in 
which  he  sleeps  warm  till  the  morning.  Nature 
herself  gives  the  hint  and  the  example,  if  we  have 
wit  to  take  it.  See  how  Nature  keeps  the  lakes 
warm  by  tucking  them  up  under  a  blanket  of  ice, 
and  the  ground  under  a  cloak  of  snow.  The  old 
forester  is  never  far  from  shelter ;  no  matter  how 
remote  from  camp  or  city,  he  carries  Bangor  with 
him.  A  sudden  shower  cannot  wet  him,  if  he  cares 
to  be  dry ;  he  draws  his  boat  ashore,  turns  it  over 
in  a  twinkling  against  a  clump  of  alders,  with  cat- 
briers  which  keep  up  the  lee-side,  crawls  under  it 
with  his  comrade,  and  lies  there  till  the  shower  is 
over,  happy  in  his  stout  roof.  The  boat  is  full  of 
water,  and  resists  all  your  strength  to  drag  it  ashore 
and  empty  it.  The  fisherman  looks  about  him,  puts 
a  round  stick  of  wood  underneath,  and  it  rolls  as  on 
wheels  at  once.  Napoleon  says,  the  Corsicans  at  the 
battle  of  Golo,  not  having  had  time  to  cut  down  the 
bridge,  which  was  of  stone,  made  use  of  the  bodies 
of  their  dead  to  form  an  intrenchment.  Malus, 
known  for  his  discoveries  in  the  polarization  of  light, 
was  captain  of  a  corps  of  engineers  in  Bonaparte's 


RESOURCES.  141 

Egyptian  campaign,  which  was  heinously  unpro 
vided  and  exposed.  "  Wanting  a  picket  to  which  to 
attach  my  horse,"  he  says,  "  I  tied  him  to  my  leg. 
I  slept,  and  dreamed  peaceably  of  the  pleasures  of 
Europe."  M.  Tissenet  had  learned  among  the  In 
dians  to  understand  their  language,  and,  coming 
among  a  wild  party  of  Illinois,  he  overheard  them 
say  that  they  would  scalp  him.  He  said  to  them, 
u  Will  you  scalp  me  ?  Here  is  my  scalp,  "  and  con 
founded  them  by  lifting  a  little  periwig  he  wore. 
He  then  explained  to  them  that  he  was  a  great  med 
icine-man,  and  that  they  did  great  wrong  in  wishing 
to  harm  him,  who  carried  them  all  in  his  heart. 
So  he  opened  his  shirt  a  little  and  showed  to  each 
of  the  savages  in  turn  the  reflection  of  his  own  eye 
ball  in  a  small  pocket-mirror  which  he  had  hung 
next  to  his  skin.  He  assured  them  that  if  they 
should  provoke  him  he  would  burn  up  their  rivers 
and  their  forests  ;  and  taking  from  his  portmanteau 
a  small  phial  of  white  brandy,  he  poured  it  into  a 
cup,  and  lighting  a  straw  at  the  fire  in  the  wigwam, 
he  kindled  the  brandy  (which  they  believed  to  be 
water),  ansl  burned  it  up  before  their  eyes.  Then 
taking  up  a  chip  of  dry  pine,  he  drew  a  burning- 
glass  from  his  pocket  and  set  the  chip  on  fire. 

What  a  new  face  courage  puts  on  everything! 
A  determined  man,  by  his  very  attitude  and  the 
tone  of  his  voice,  puts  a  stop  to  defeat,  and  begins 


142  RESOURCES. 

to  conquer.  "  For  they  can  conquer  who  believe 
they  can.  "  Every  one  hears  gladly  that  cheerful 
voice.  He  reveals  to  us  the  enormous  power  of 
one  man  over  masses  of  men ;  that  one  man  whose 
eye  commands  the  end  in  view  and  the  means  by 
which  it  can  be  attained,  is  not  only  better  than 
ten  men  or  a  hundred  men,  but  victor  over  all 
mankind  who  do  not  see  the  issue  and  the  means. 
"  When  a  man  is  once  possessed  with  fear, "  said 
the  old  French  Marshal  Montluc,  "  and  loses  his 
judgment,  as  all  men  in  a  fright  do,  he  knows  not 
what  he  does.  And  it  is  the  principal  thing  you 
are  to  beg  at  the  hands  of  Almighty  God,  to  pre 
serve  your  understanding  entire ;  for  what  danger 
soever  there  may  be,  there  is  still  one  way  or  other 
to  get  off,  and  perhaps  to  your  honor.  But  when 
fear  has  once  possessed  you,  God  ye  good  even! 
You  think  you  are  flying  towards  the  poop  when 
you  are  running  towards  the  prow,  and  for  one  ene 
my  think  you  have  ten  before  your  ej^es,  as  drunk 
ards  who  see  a  thousand  candles  at  once.  " 

Against  the  terrors  of  the  mob,  which,  intoxicated 
with  passion,  and  once  suffered  to  gaki  the  ascend 
ant,  is  diabolic  and  chaos  come  again,  good  sense  has 
many  arts  of  prevention  and  of  relief.  Disorganiza 
tion  it  confronts  with  organization,  with  police,  with 
military  force.  But  in  earlier  stages  of  the  disorder 
it  applies  milder  and  nobler  remedies.  •*  The  natu- 


RESOURCES.  143 

ral  offset  of  terror  is  ridicule.  And  we  have  noted 
examples  among  our  orators,  who  have  on  conspicu 
ous  occasions  handled  and  controlled,  and,  best  of 
all,  converted  a  malignant  mob,  by  superior  man 
hood,  and  by  a  wit  which  disconcerted  and  at  last 
delighted  the  ringleaders.  What  can  a  poor  truck 
man,  who  is  hired  to  groan  and  to  hiss,  do,  when  the 
orator  shakes  him  into  convulsions  of  laughter  so 
that  he  cannot  throw  his  egg  ?  If  a  good  story  will 
not  answer,  still  milder  remedies  sometimes  serve 
to  disperse  a  mob.  Try  sending  round  the  contri 
bution-box.  Mr.  Marshall,  the  eminent  manufac 
turer  at  Leeds,  was  to  preside  at  a  Free-Trade 
festival  in  that  city;  it  was  threatened  that  the 
operatives,  who  were  in  bad  humor,  would  break  up 
the  meeting  by  a  mob.  Mr.  Marshall  was  a  man 
of  peace ;  he  had  the  pipes  laid  from  the  water 
works  of  his  mill,  with  a  stop-cock  by  his  chair  from 
which  he  could  discharge  a  stream  that  would 
knock  down  an  ox,  and  sat  down  very  peacefully 
to  his  dinner,  which  was  not  disturbed. 

See  the  dexterity  of  the  good  aunt  in  keeping 
the  young  people  all  the  weary  holiday  busy  and 
diverted  without  knowing  it :  the  story,  the  pic 
tures,  the  ballad,  the  game,  the  cuckoo-clock,  the 
stereoscope,  the  rabbits,  the  mino  bird,  the  pop 
corn,  and  Christmas  hemlock  spurting  in  the  fire. 
The  children  never  suspect  how  much  design  goes 


144  RESOURCES. 

to  it,  and  that  this  unfailing  fertility  has  been  re 
hearsed  a  hundred  times,  when  the  necessity  came 
of  finding  for  the  little  Asmodeus  a  rope  of  sand  to 
twist.  She  relies  on  the  same  principle  that  makes 
the  strength  of  Newton,  —  alternation  of  employ 
ment.  See  how  he  refreshed  himself,  resting  from 
the  profound  researches  of  the  calculus  by  astron 
omy  ;  from  astronomy  by  optics ;  from  optics  by 
chronology.  It  is  a  law  of  chemistry  that  every 
gas  is  a  vacuum  to  every  other  gas ;  and  when  the 
mind  has  exhausted  its  energies  for  one  employ 
ment,  it  is  still  fresh  and  capable  of  a  different 
task.  We  have  not  a  toy  or  trinket  for  idle  amuse 
ment  but  somewhere  it  is  the  one  thing  needful, 
for  solid  instruction  or  to  save  the  ship  or  army. 
In  the  Mammoth  Cave  in  Kentucky,  the  torches 
which  each  traveller  carries  make  a  dim  funeral 
procession,  and  serve  no  purpose  but  to  see  the 
ground.  When  now  and  then  the  vaulted  roof 
rises  high  overhead  and  hides  all  its  possibilities  in 
lofty  depths,  't  is  but  gloom  on  gloom.  But  the 
guide  kindled  a  Roman  candle,  and  held  it  here 
and  there  shooting  its  fireballs  successively  into 
each  crypt  of  the  groined  roof,  disclosing  its  starry 
splendor,  and  showing  for  the  first  time  what  that 
plaything  was  good  for. 

Whether  larger  or  less,  these  strokes  and  all  ex 
ploits  rest  at  last  on  the  wonderful  structure  of  the 


RESOURCES.  145 

mind.  And  we  learn  that  our  doctrine  of  resources 
must  be  carried  into  higher  application,  namely,  to 
the  intellectual  sphere.  But  every  power  in  energy 
speedily  arrives  at  its  limits,  and  requires  to  be 
husbanded:  the  law  of  light,  which  Newton  said 
proceeded  by  "  fits  of  easy  reflection  and  transmis 
sion  ;  "  the  come-and-go  of  the  pendulum,  is  the 
law  of  mind  ;  alternation  of  labors  is  its  rest. 

I  should  like  to  have  the  statistics  of  bold  ex 
perimenting  on  the  husbandry  of  mental  power. 
In  England  men  of  letters  drink  wine  ;  in  Scot 
land,  whiskey ;  in  France,  light  wines ;  in  Germany, 
beer.  In  England  everybody  rides  in  the  saddle  ; 
in  France  the  theatre  and  the  ball  occupy  the  night. 
In  this  country  we  have  not  learned  how  to  repair 
the  exhaustions  of  our  climate.  Is  not  the  seaside 
necessary  in  summer?  Games,  fishing,  bowling, 
hunting,  gymnastics,  dancing,  — are  not  these  need 
ful  to  you  ?  The  chapter  of  pastimes  is  very  long. 
There  are  better  games  than  billiards  and  whist. 
It  was  a  pleasing  trait  in  Goethe's  romance,  that 
Makaria  retires  from  society  "to  astronomy  and 
her  correspondence." 

I  do  not  know  that  the  treatise  of  Brillat  Sava- 
rin  on  the  Physiology  of  Taste  deserves  its  fame. 
I  know  its  repute,  and  I  have  heard  it  called  the 
France  of  France.  But  the  subject  is  so  large  and 
exigent,  that  a  few  particulars,  and  those  the  pleas- 

VOL.  VIII.  10 


146  RESOURCES. 

ures  of  the  epicure,  cannot  satisfy.  I  know  many 
men  of  taste  whose  single  opinions  and  practice 
would  interest  much  more.  It  should  be  extended 
to  gardens  and  grounds,  and  mainly  one  thing 
should  be  illustrated  :  that  life  in  the  country 
wants  all  things  on  a  low  tone,  —  wants  coarse 
clothes,  old  shoes,  no  fleet  horse  that  a  man  cannot 
hold,  but  an  old  horse  that  will  stand  tied  in  a  pas 
ture  half  a  day  without  risk,  so  allowing  the  picnic- 
party  the  full  freedom  of  the  woods.  Natural  his 
tory  is,  in  the  country,  most  attractive  ;  at  once  ele 
gant,  immortal,  always  opening  new  resorts.  The 
first  care  of  a  man  settling  in  the  country  should 
be  to  open  the  face  of  the  earth  to  himself  by  a 
little  knowledge  of  nature,  or  a  great  deal,  if  he 
can ;  of  birds,  plants,  rocks,  astronomy ;  in  short, 
the  art  of  taking  a  walk.  This  will  draw  the  sting 
out  of  frost,  dreariness  out  of  November  and  March, 
and  the  drowsiness  out  of  August.  To  know  the 
trees  is,  as  Spenser  says  of  the  ash,  "  for  nothing 
ill."  Shells,  too  ;  how  hungry  I  found  myself,  the 
other  day,  at  Agassiz's  Museum,  for  their  names ! 
But  the  uses  of  the  woods  are  many,  and  some  of 
them  for  the  scholar  high  and  peremptory.  When 
his  task  requires  the  wiping  out  from  memory 

"  all  trivial  fond  records 
That  youth  and  observation  copied  there," 

he  must  leave  the  house,  the  streets,  and  the  club, 


RESOURCES.  147 

and  go  to  wooded  uplands,  to  the  clearing  and  the 
brook.  Well  for  him  if  he  can  say  with  the  old 
minstrel,  "  I  know  where  to  find  a  new  song." 

If  I  go  into  the  woods  in  winter,  and  am  shown 
the  thirteen  or  fourteen  species  of  willow  that  grow 
in  Massachusetts,  I  learn  that  they  quietly  expand 
in  the  warmer  days,  or  when  nobody  is  looking  at 
them,  and,  though  insignificant  enough  in  the  gen 
eral  bareness  of  the  forest,  yet  a  great  change  takes 
place  in  them  between  fall  and  spring  ;  in  the  first 
relentings  of  March  they  hasten,  and  long  before 
anything  else  is  ready,  these  osiers  hang  out  their 
joyful  flowers  in  contrast  to  all  the  woods.  You 
cannot  tell  when  they  do  bud  and  blossom,  these 
vivacious  trees,  so  ancient,  for  they  are  almost  the 
oldest  of  all.  Among  fossil  remains,  the  willow 
and  the  pine  appear  with  the  ferns.  They  bend  all 
day  to  every  wind  ;  the  cart-wheel  in  the  road  may 
crush  them ;  every  passenger  may  strike  off  a  twig 
with  his  cane  ;  every  boy  cuts  them  for  a  whistle ; 
the  cow,  the  rabbit,  the  insect,  bite  the  sweet  and 
tender  bark ;  yet,  in  spite  of  accident  and  enemy, 
their  gentle  persistency  lives  when  the  oak  is  shat 
tered  by  storm,  and  grows  in  the  night  and  snow 
and  cold.  When  I  see  in  these  brave  plants  this 
vigor  and  immortality  in  weakness,  I  find  a  sudden 
relief  and  pleasure  in  observing  the  mighty  law  of 
vegetation,  and  I  think  it  more  grateful  and  health- 


148  RESOURCES. 

giving  than  any  news  I  am  likely  to  find  of  man  in 
the  journals,  and  better  than  Washington  politics. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  there  is  no  limit  to  the 
chapter  of  Resources.  I  have  not,  in  all  these 
rambling  sketches,  gone  beyond  the  beginning  of 
my  list.  Resources  of  Man,  —  it  is  the  inventory 
of  the  world,  the  roll  of  arts  and  sciences ;  it  is  the 
whole  of  memory,  the  whole  of  invention  ;  it  is  all 
the  power  of  passion,  the  majesty  of  virtue,  and  the 
omnipotence  of  will. 

But  the  one  fact  that  shines  through  all  this 
plentitude  of  powers  is,  that  as  is  the  receiver,  so  is 
the  gift ;  that  all  these  acquisitions  are  victories  of 
the  good  brain  and  brave  heart ;  that  the  world  be 
longs  to  the  energetic,  belongs  to  the  wise.  It  is  in 
vain  to  make  a  paradise  but  for  good  men.  The 
tropics  are  one  vast  garden ;  yet  man  is  more  mis 
erably  fed  and  conditioned  there  than  in  the  cold 
and  stingy  zones.  The  healthy,  the  civil,  the  in 
dustrious,  the  learned,  the  moral  race,  —  Nature 
herself  only  yields  her  secret  to  these.  And  the 
resources  of  America  and  its  future  will  be  im 
mense  only  to  wise  and  virtuous  men. 


THE  COMIC. 


THE  COMIC. 


A  TASTE  for  fun  is  all  but  universal  in  our 
species,  which  is  the  only  joker  in  nature.  The 
rocks,  the  plants,  the  beasts,  the  birds,  neither  do 
anything  ridiculous,  nor  betray  a  perception  of  any 
thing  absurd  done  in  their  presence.  And  as  the 
lower  nature  does  not  jest,  neither  does  the  highest. 
The  Reason  pronounces  its  omniscient  yea  and  nay, 
but  meddles  never  with  degrees  or  fractions ;  and 
it  is  in  comparing  fractions  with  essential  integers 
or  wholes  that  laughter  begins. 

Aristotle's  definition  of  the  ridiculous  is,  "  what 
is  out  of  time  and  place,  without  danger."  If  there 
be  pain  and  danger,  it  becomes  tragic ;  if  not,  comic. 
I  confess,  this  definition,  though  by  an  admirable 
definer,  does  not  satisfy  me,  does  not  say  all  we 
know. 

The  essence  of  all  jokes,  of  all  comedy,  seems  to 
be  an  honest  or  well-intended  halfness ;  a  non-per 
formance  of  what  is  pretended  to  be  performed,  at 
the  same  time  that  one  is  giving  loud  pledges  of 
performance.  The  balking  of  the  intellect,  the 


152  THE   COMIC. 

frustrated  expectation,  the  break  of  continuity  in 
the  intellect,  is  comedy  ;  and  it  announces  itself 
physically  in  the  pleasant  spasms  we  call  laughter. 
With  the  trifling  exception  of  the  stratagems  of 
a  few  beasts  and  birds,  there  is  no  seeming,  no  half- 
ness  in  nature,  until  the  appearance  of  man.  Un 
conscious  creatures  do  the  whole  will  of  wisdom. 
An  oak  or  a  chestnut  undertakes  ift>  function  it  can 
not  execute ;  or  if  there  be  phenomena  in  botany 
which  we  call  abortions,  the  abortion  is  also  a 
function  of  nature,  and  assumes  to  the  intellect 
the  like  completeness  with  the  further  function  to 
which  in  different  circumstances  it  had  attained. 
The  same  rule  holds  true  of  the  animals.  Their  ac 
tivity  is  marked  by  unerring  good-sense.  But  man, 
through  his  access  to  Reason,  is  capable  of  the  per 
ception  of  a  whole  and  a  part.  Reason  is  the  whole, 
and  whatsoever  is  not  that  is  a  part.  The  whole 
of  nature  is  agreeable  to  the  whole  of  thought,  or 
to  the  Reason ;  but  separate  any  part  of  nature 
and  attempt  to  look  at  it  as  a  whole  by  itself,  and 
the  feeling  of  the  ridiculous  begins.  The  perpetual 
game  of  humor  is  to  look  with  considerate  good 
nature  at  .every  object  in  existence,  aloof \  as  a  man 
might  look  at  a  mouse,  comparing  it  with  the  eter 
nal  Whole ;  enjoying  the  figure  which  each  self- 
satisfied  particular  creature  cuts  in  the  unrespecting 
All,  and  dismissing  it  with  a  beuison.  Separate 


THE   COMIC.  153 

any  object,  as  a  particular  bodily  man,  a  horse,  a 
turnip,  a  flour-barrel,  an  umbrella,  from  the  connec 
tion  of  things,  and  contemplate  it  alone,  standing 
there  in  absolute  nature,  it  becomes  at  once  comic ; 
no  useful,  no  respectable  qualities  can  rescue  it 
from  the  ludicrous. 

In  virtue  of  man's  access  to  Eeason,  or  the 
Whole,  the  human  form  is  a  pledge  of  wholeness, 
suggests  to  our  imagination  the  perfection  of  truth 
or  goodness,  and  exposes  by  contrast  any  halfness 
or  imperfection.  We  have  a  primary  association 
between  perfectness  and  this  form.  But  the  facts 
that  occur  when  actual  men  enter  do  not  make  good 
this  anticipation  ;  a  discrepancy  which  is  at  once 
detected  by  the  intellect,  and  the  outward  sign  is 
the  muscular  irritation  of  laughter. 

Reason  does  npt  joke,  and  men  of  reason  do  not ; 
a  prophet,  in  whom  the  moral  sentiment  predomi 
nates,  or  a  philosopher,  in  whom  the  love  of  truth 
predominates,  these  do  not  joke,  but  they  bring  the 
standard,  the  ideal  whole,  exposing  all  actual  de 
fect  ;  and  hence  the  best  of  all  jokes  is  the  sympa 
thetic  contemplation  of  things  by  the  understand 
ing  from  the  philosopher's  point  of  view.  There  is 
no  joke  so  true  and  deep  in  actual  life  as  when 
some  pure  idealist  goes  up  and  down  among  the  in 
stitutions  of  society,  attended  by  a  man  who  knows 
the  world,  and  who,  sympathizing  with  the  philoso- 


154  THE   COMIC. 

plier's  scrutiny,  sympathizes  also  with  the  confusion 
and  indignation  of  the  detected,  skulking  institu 
tions.  His  perception  of  disparity,  his  eye  wander 
ing  perpetually  from  the  rule  to  the  crooked,  lying, 
thieving  fact,  makes  the  eyes  run  over  with  laugh 
ter. 

This  is  the  radical  joke  of  life  and  then  of  liter 
ature.  The  presence  of  the  ideal  of  right  and  of 
truth  in  all  action  makes  the  yawning  delinquen 
cies  of  practice  remorseful  to  the  conscience,  tragic 
to  the  interest,  but  droll  to  the  intellect.  The  ac 
tivity  of  our  sympathies  may  for  a  time  hinder  our 
perceiving  the  fact  intellectually,  and  so  deriving 
mirth  from  it ;  but  all  falsehoods,  all  vices  seen  at 
sufficient  distance,  seen  from  the  point  where  our 
moral  sympathies  do  not  interfere,  become  ludi 
crous.  The  comedy  is  in  the  intellect's  perception 
of  discrepancy.  And  whilst  the  presence  of  the 
ideal  discovers  the  difference,  the  comedy  is  en 
hanced  whenever  that  ideal  is  embodied  visibly  in 
a  man.  Thus  Falstaff,  in  Shakspeare,  is  a  charac 
ter  of  the  broadest  comedy,  giving  himself  unre 
servedly  to  his  senses,  coolly  ignoring  the  Reason, 
whilst  he  invokes  its  name,  pretending  to  patriot 
ism  and  to  parental  virtues,  not  with  any  intent  to 
deceive,  but  only  to  make  the  fun  perfect  by  enjoy 
ing  the  confusion  betwixt  reason  and  the  negation 
of  reason,  —  in  other  words,  the  rank  rascaldom  he 


THE   COMIC. 

is  calling  by  its  name.  Prince  Hal  stands  by,  as 
the  acute  understanding,  who  sees  the  Eight,  and 
sympathizes  with  it,  and  in  the  heyday  of  youth 
feels  also  the  full  attractions  of  pleasure,  and  is 
thus  eminently  qualified  to  enjoy  the  joke.  At  the 
same  time  he  is  to  that  degree  under  the  Eeason 
that  it  does  not  amuse  him  as  much  as  it  amuses 
another  spectator. 

If  the  essence  of  the  Comic  be  the  contrast  in 
the  intellect  between  the  idea  and  the  false  per 
formance,  there  is  good  reason  why  we  should  be 
affected  by  the  exposure.  We  have  no  deeper  in 
terest  than  our  integrity,  and  that  we  should  be 
made  aware  by  joke  and  by  stroke  of  any  lie  we 
entertain.  Besides,  a  perception  of  the  Comic  seems 
to  be  a  balance-wheel  in  our  metaphysical  structure. 
It  appears  to  be  an  essential  element  in  a  fine  char 
acter.  Wherever  the  intellect  is  constructive,  it 
will  be  found.  We  feel  the  absence  of  it  as  a  de 
fect  in  the  noblest  and  most  oracular  soul.  The 
perception  of  the  Comic  is  a  tie  of  sympathy  with 
other  men,  a  pledge  of  sanity,  and  a  protection 
from  those  perverse  tendencies  and  gloomy  insani 
ties  in  which  fine  intellects  sometimes  lose  them 
selves.  A  rogue  alive  to  the  ludicrous  is  still  con 
vertible.  If  that  sense  is  lost,  his  fellow-men  can 
do  little  for  him. 

It  is  true  the  sensibility  to  the  ludicrous  may  run 


156  THE  COMIC. 

into  excess.  Men  celebrate  their  perception  of  half- 
ness  and  a  latent  lie  by  the  peculiar  explosions  of 
laughter.  So  painfully  susceptible  are  some  men 
to  these  impressions,  that  if  a  man  of  wit  come  into 
the  room  where  they  are,  it  seems  to  take  them  out 
of  themselves  with  violent  convulsions  of  the  face 
and  sides,  and  obstreperous  roarings  of  the  throat. 
How  often  and  with  what  unfeigned  compassion  we 
have  seen  such  a  person  receiving  like  a  willing 
martyr  the  whispers  into  his  ear  of  a  man  of  wit. 
The  victim  who  has  just  received  the  discharge,  if 
in  a  solemn  company,  has  the  air  very  much  of  a 
stout  vessel  which  has  just  shipped  a  heavy  sea ; 
and  though  it  does  not  split  it,  the  poor  bark  is  for 
the  moment  critically  staggered.  The  peace  of  so 
ciety  and  the  decorum  of  tables  seem  to  require 
that  next  to  a  notable  wit  should  always  be  posted 
a  phlegmatic  bolt-upright  man,  able  to  stand  with 
out  movement  of  muscle  whole  broadsides  of  this 
Greek  fire.  It  is  a  true  shaft  of  Apollo,  and  trav 
erses  the  universe,  and  unless  it  encounter  a  mystic 
or  a  dumpish  soul,  goes  everywhere  heralded  and 
harbingered  by  smiles  and  greetings.  Wit  makes 
its  own  welcome,  and  levels  all  distinctions.  No 
dignity,  no  learning,  no  force  of  character,  can 
make  any  stand  against  good  wit.  It  is  like  ice, 
on  which  no  beauty  of  form,  no  n^jesty  of  carriage 
can  plead  any  immunity,  —  they  must  walk  gin- 


THE   COMIC.  157 

gerly,  according  to  the  laws  of  ice,  or  down  they 
must  go,  dignity  and  all.  "  Dost  thou  think,  be 
cause  thou  art  virtuous,  there  shall  be  no  more 
cakes  and  ale  ?  "  Plutarch  happily  expresses  the 
value  of  the  jest  as  a  legitimate  weapon  of  the  phil 
osopher.  "Men  cannot  exercise  their  rhetoric  un 
less  they  speak,  but  their  philosophy  even  whilst 
they  are  silent  or  jest  merrily  ;  for  as  it  is  the  high 
est  degree  of  injustice  not  to  be  just  and  yet  seem 
so,  so  it  is  the  top  of  wisdom  to  philosophize  yet 
not  appear  to  do  it,  and  in  mirth  to  do  the  same 
with  those  that  are  serious  and  seem  in  earnest ; 
for  as  in  Euripides,  the  Bacchae,  though  unprovided 
of  iron  weapons,  and  unarmed,  wounded  their  in 
vaders  with  the  boughs  of  trees  which  they  carried, 
thus  the  very  jests  and  merry  talk  of  true  philoso 
phers  move  those  that  are  not  altogether  insensible, 
and  unusually  reform." 

In  all  the  parts  of  life,  the  occasion  of  laughter 
is  some  seeming,  some  keeping  of  the  word  to  the 
ear  and  eye,  whilst  it  is  broken  to  the  soul.  Thus, 
as  the  religious  sentiment  is  the  most  vital  and  sub 
lime  of  all  our  sentiments,  and  capable  of  the  most 
prodigious  effects,  so  is  it  abhorrent  to  our  whole 
nature,  when,  in  the  absence  of  the  sentiment,  the 
act  or  word  or  officer  volunteers  to  stand  in  its 
stead.  To  the  sympathies  this  is  shocking,  and  oc 
casions  grief.  But  to  the  intellect  the  lack  of  the 


158  THE   COMIC. 

sentiment  gives  no  pain;  it  compares  incessantly 
the  sublime  idea  with  the  bloated  nothing  which 
pretends  to  be  it,  and  the  sense  of  the  disproportion 
is  comedy.  And  as  the  religious  sentiment  is  the 
most  real  and  earnest  thing  in  nature,  being  a  mere 
rapture,  and  excluding,  when  it  appears,  all  other 
considerations,  the  vitiating  this  is  the  greatest  lie. 
Therefore,  the  oldest  gibe  of  literature  is  the  ridi 
cule  of  false  religion.  This  is  the  joke  of  jokes. 
In  religion,  the  sentiment  is  all ;  the  ritual  or  cere 
mony  indifferent.  But  the  inertia  of  men  inclines 
them,  when  the  sentiment  sleeps,  to  imitate  that 
thing  it  did ;  it  goes  through  the  ceremony  omitting 
only  the  will,  makes  the  mistake  of  the  wig  for  the 
head,  the  clothes  for  the  man.  The  older  the  mis 
take  and  the  more  overgrown  the  particular  form  is, 
the  more  ridiculous  to  the  intellect.  Captain  John 
Smith,  the  discoverer  of  New  England,  was  not 
wanting  in  humor.  The  Society  in  London  which 
had  contributed  their  means  to  convert  the  savages, 
hoping  doubtless  to  see  the  Keokuks,  Black  Hawks, 
Eoaring  Thunders,  and  Tustanuggees  of  that  day 
converted  into  church  -  wardens  and  deacons  at 
least,  pestered  the  gallant  rover  with  frequent  so 
licitations  out  of  England  touching  the  conversion 
of  the  Indians,  and  the  enlargement  of  the  Church. 
Smith,  in  his  perplexity  how  to  satisfy  the  Society, 
sent  out  a  party  into  the  swamp,  caught  an  Indian, 


THE   COMIC.  159 

and  sent  him  home  in  the  first  ship  to  London, 
telling  the  Society  they  might  convert  one  them 
selves. 

The  satire  reaches  its  climax  when  the  actual 
Church  is  set  in  direct  contradiction  to  the  dictates 
of  the  religious  sentiment,  as  in  the  sketch  of  our 
Puritan  politics  in  Hudibras :  — 

"  Our  brethren  of  New  England  use 
Choice  malefactors  to  excuse, 
And  hang  the  guiltless  in  their  stead, 
Of  whom  the  churches  have  less  need  ; 
As  lately  happened,  in  a  town 
Where  lived  a  cobbler,  and  but  one, 
That  out  of  doctrine  could  cut  use, 
And  mend  men's  lives  as  well  as  shoes. 
This  precious  brother  having  slain, 
In  times  of  peace,  an  Indian, 
Not  out  of  malice,  but  mere  zeal 
(Because  he  was  an  infidel), 
The  mighty  Tottipottymoy 
Sent  to  our  elders  an  envoy, 
Complaining  loudly  of  the  breach 
Of  league  held  forth  by  Brother  Patch, 
Against  the  articles  in  force 
Between  both  churches,  his  and  ours, 
For  which  he  craved  the  saints  to  render 
Into  his  hands,  or  hang  the  offender  ; 
But  they,  maturely  having  weighed 
They  had  no  more  but  him  o'  th'  trade 
(A  man  that  served  them  in  the  double 
Capacity  to  teach  and  cobble), 


160  THE   COMIC. 

Resolved  to  spare  him  ;  yet  to  do 
The  Indian  Hoghaii  Moghan  too 
Impartial  justice,  in  his  stead  did 
Hang  an  old  weaver  that  was  bedrid." 

In  science  the  jest  at  pedantry  is  analogous  to 
that  in  religion  which  lies  against  superstition.  A 
classification  or  nomenclature  used  by  the  scholar 
only  as  a  memorandum  of  his  last  lesson  in  the 
laws  of  nature,  and  confessedly  a  makeshift,  a  biv 
ouac  for  a  night,  and  implying  a  march  and  a  con 
quest  to-morrow,  —  becomes  through  indolence  a 
barrack  and  a  prison,  in  which  the  man  sits  down 
immovably,  and  wishes  to  detain  others.  The  phy 
siologist  Camper  humorously  confesses  the  effect  of 
his  studies  in  dislocating  his  ordinary  associations. 
"  I  have  been  employed  "  he  says,  "  six  months  on 
the  Cetacea  ;  I  understand  the  osteology  of  the 
head  of  all  these  monsters,  and  have  made  the  com 
bination  v/ith  the  human  head  so  well  that  every- 
body  now  appears  to  me  narwhale,  porpoise,  or  mar- 
souins.  Women,  the  prettiest  in  society,  and  those 
whom  I  find  less  comely,  they  are  all  either  nar- 
whales  or  porpoises  to  my  eyes."  I  chanced  the 
other  day  to  fall  in  with  an  odd  illustration  of  the 
remark  I  had  heard,  that  the  laws  of  disease  are  as 
beautiful  as  the  laws  of  health ;  I  was  hastening  to 
visit  an  old  and  honored  friend,  who,  I  was  in 
formed,  was  in  a  dying  condition,  when  I  met  his 


THE   COMIC.  161 

physician,  who  accosted  me  in  great  spirits,  with 
joy  sparkling  in  his  eyes.  "  And  how  is  my  friend, 
the  reverend  Doctor  ? "  I  inquired.  "  O,  I  saw 
him  this  morning;  it  is  the  most  correct  apoplexy 
I  have  ever  seen  :  face  and  hands  livid,  breathing 
stertorous,  all  the  symptoms  perfect."  And  he 
rubbed  his  hands  with  delight,  for  in  the  country 
we  cannot  find  every  day  a  case  that  agrees  with  the 
diagnosis  of  the  books.  I  think  there  is  malice 
in  a  very  trifling  story  which  goes  about,  and  which 
I  should  not  take  any  notice  of,  did  I  not  suspect 
it  to  contain  some  satire  upon  my  brothers  of  the 
Natural  History  Society.  It  is  of  a  boy  who  was 
learning  his  alphabet.  "  That  letter  is  A,"  said 
the  teacher;  "A,"  drawled  the  boy.  "That  is 
B,"  said  the  teacher  ;  "  B,"  drawled  the  boy,  and 
so  on.  "  That  is  W,  "  said  the  teacher.  "  The 
devil !  "  exclaimed  the  boy,  "  is  that  W  ?  " 

The  pedantry  of  literature  belongs  to  the  same 
category.  In  both  cases  there  is  a  lie,  when  the 
mind,  seizing  a  classification  to  help  it  to  a  sincerer 
knowledge  of  the  fact,  stops  in  the  classification  ; 
or  learning  languages  and  reading  books  to  the  end 
of  a  better  acquaintance  with  man,  stops  in  the 
languages  and  books  :  in  both  the  learner  seems  to 
be  wise,  and  is  not. 

The  same  falsehood,  the  same  confusion  of  the 
sympathies  because  a  pretension  is  not  made  good, 

VOL.  VIII.  11 


162  THE  COMIC. 

points  the  perpetual  satire  against  poverty,  since, 
according  to  Latin  poetry  and  English  doggerel, 
"  Poverty  does  nothing  worse 
Than  to  make  man  ridiculous." 

In  this  instance  the  halfness  lies  in  the  pretension 
of  the  parties  to  some  consideration  on  account  of 
their  condition.  If  the  man  is  not  ashamed  of  his 
poverty,  there  is  no  joke.  The  poorest  man  who 
stands  on  his  manhood  destroys  the  jest.  The 
poverty  of  the  saint,  of  the  rapt  philosopher,  of  the 
naked  Indian,  is  not  comic.  The  lie  is  in  the  sur 
render  of  the  man  to  his  appearance  ;  as  if  a  man 
should  neglect  himself  and  treat  his  shadow  on  the 
wall  with  marks  of  infinite  respect.  It  affects  us 
oddly,  as  to  see  things  turned  upside  down,  or  to 
see  a  man  in  a  high  wind  run  after  his  hat,  which  is 
always  droll.  The  relation  of  the  parties  is  inverted, 
—  hat  being  for  the  moment  master,  the  by-stanclers 
cheering  the  hat.  The  multiplication  of  artificial 
wants  and  expenses  in  civilized  life,  and  the  exag 
geration  of  all  trifling  forms,  present  innumerable 
occasions  for  the  discrepancy  to  expose  itself.  Such 
is  the  story  told  of  the  painter  Astley,  who,  going 
out  of  Rome  one  day  with  a  party  for  a  ramble  in 
the  Campagna  and  the  weather  proving  hot,  refused 
to  take  off  his  coat  when  his  companions  threw  off 
theirs,  but  sweltered  on  ;  which,  exciting  remark,  his 
comrades  playfully  forced  off  his  coat,  and  behold 


THE  COMIC.  163 

on  the  back  of  his  waistcoat  a  gay  cascade  was 
thundering  down  the  rocks  with  foam  and  rainbow, 
very  refreshing  in  so  sultry  a  day  ;  —  a  picture  of 
his  own,  with  which  the  poor  painter  had  been  fain 
to  repair  the  shortcomings  of  his  wardrobe.  The 
same  astonishment  of  the  intellect  at  the  disappear 
ance  of  the  man  out  of  nature,  through  some  super 
stition  of  his  house  or  equipage,  as  if  truth  and  vir 
tue  should  be  bowed  out  of  creation  by  the  clothes 
they  wore,  is  the  secret  of  all  the  fun  that  circulates 
concerning  eminent  fops  and  fashionists,  and,  in 
like  manner,  of  the  gay  Rameau  of  Diderot,  who 
believes  nothing  but  hunger,  and  that  the  sole  end 
of  art,  virtue,  and  poetry  is  to  put  something  for 
mastication  between  the  upper  and  lower  mandi 
bles. 

Alike  in  all  these  cases  and  in  the  instance  of 
cowardice  or  fear  of  any  sort,  from  the  loss  of  life 
to  the  loss  of  spoons,  the  majesty  of  man  is  violated. 
He  whom  all  things  should  serve,  serves  some  one 
of  his  own  tools.  In  fine  pictures  the  head  sheds 
011  the  limbs  the  expression  of  the  face.  In  Ra 
phael's  Angel  driving  Heliodorus  from  the  Tem 
ple,  the  crest  of  the  helmet  is  so  remarkable,  that 
but  for  the  extraordinary  energy  of  the  face,  it 
would  draw  the  eye  too  much  ;  but  the  countenance 
of  the  celestial  messenger  subordinates  it,  and  we 
see  it  not.  In  poor  pictures  the  limbs  and  trunk 


164  THE   COMIC. 

degrade  the  face.  So  among  the  women  in  the 
street,  you  shall  see  one  whose  bonnet  and  dress  are 
one  thing,  and  the  lady  herself  quite  another,  wear 
ing  withal  an  expression  of  meek  submission  to  her 
bonnet  and  dress ;  and  another  whose  dress  obeys 
and  heightens  the  expression  of  her  form. 

More  food  for  the  Comic  is  afforded  whenever 
the  personal  appearance,  the  face,  form,  and  man 
ners,  are  subjects  of  thought  with  the  man  himself. 
No  fashion  is  the  best  fashion  for  those  matters 
which  will  take  care  of  themselves.  This  is  the  butt 
of  those  jokes  of  the  Paris  drawing-rooms,  which 
Napoleon  reckoned  so  formidable,  and  which  are 
copiously  recounted  in  the  French  Memoirs.  A 
lady  of  high  rank,  but  of  lean  figure,  had  given  the 
Countess  Dulauloy  the  nickname  of  "  Le  Grenadier 
tricolore,"  in  allusion  to  her  tall  figure,  as  well  as  to 
her  republican  opinions  ;  the  Countess  retaliated  by 
calling  Madame  "the  Venus  of  the  Pere-Lachaise," 
a  compliment  to  her  skeleton  which  did  not  fail  to 
circulate.  "  Lord  C.,"  said  the  Countess  of  Gordon, 
"  O,  he  is  a  perfect  comb,  all  teeth  and  back." 
The  Persians  have  a  pleasant  story  of  Tamerlane 
which  relates  to  the  same  particulars  :  "  Timur  was 
an  ugly  man ;  he  had  a  blind  eye  and  a  lame  foot. 
One  day  when  Chodscha  was  with  him,  Timur 
scratched  his  head,  since  the  hour  of  the  barber 
was  come,  and  commanded  that  the  barber  should 


THE   COMIC.  165 

be  called.  Whilst  lie  was  shaven,  the  barber  gave 
him  a  looking-glass  in  his  hand.  Timur  saw  him 
self  in  the  mirror  and  found  his  face  quite  too  ugly. 
Therefore  he  began  to  weep  ;  Chodscha  also  set  him 
self  to  weep,  and  so  they  wept  for  two  hours.  On 
this,  some  courtiers  began  to  comfort  Timur,  and 
entertained  him  with  strange  stories  in  order  to 
make  him  forget  all  about  it.  Timur  ceased  weep 
ing,  bnt  Chodscha  ceased  not,  but  began  now  first 
to  weep  amain,  and  in  good  earnest.  At  last  said 
Timur  to  Chodscha,  '  Hearken !  I  have  looked 
in  the  mirror,  and  seen  myself  ugly.  Thereat  I 
grieved,  because,  although  I  am  Caliph,  and  have 
also  much  wealth,  and  many  wives,  yet  still  I  am 
so  ugly;  therefore  have  I  wept.  But  thou,  why 
weepest  thou  without  ceasing  ? '  Chodscha  an 
swered,  '  If  thou  hast  only  seen  thy  face  once,  and 
at  once  seeing  hast  not  been  able  to  contain  thyself, 
but  hast  wept,  what  should  we  do,  —  we  who  see 
thy  face  ever  day  and  night?  If  we  weep  not, 
who  should  weep?  Therefore  have  I  wept.'  Ti 
mur  almost  split  his  sides  with  laughing." 

Politics  also  furnish  the  same  mark  for  satire. 
What  is  nobler  than  the  expansive  sentiment  of 
patriotism,  which  would  find  brothers  in  a  whole 
nation  ?  But  when  this  enthusiasm  is  perceived  to 
end  in  the  very  intelligible  maxims  of  trade,  so 
much  for  so  much,  the  intellect  feels  again  the  half- 


166  THE  COMIC, 

man.  Or  what  is  fitter  than  that  we  should  espouse 
and  carry  a  principle  against  all  opposition  ?  But 
when  the  men  appear  who  ask  our  votes  as  repre 
sentatives  of  this  ideal,  we  are  sadly  out  of  counte 
nance. 

But  there  is  no  end  to  this  analysis.  We  do 
nothing  that  is  not  laughable  whenever  we  quit  our 
spontaneous  sentiment.  All  our  plans,  manage 
ments,  houses,  poems,  if  compared  with  the  wisdom 
and  love  which  man  represents,  are  equally  imper 
fect  and  ridiculous.  But  we  cannot  afford  to  part 
with  any  advantages.  We  must  learn  by  laughter, 
as  well  as  by  tears  and  terrors  ;  explore  the  whole 
of  nature,  the  farce  and  buffoonery  in  the  yard  be 
low,  as  well  as  the  lessons  of  poets  and  philosophers 
upstairs  in  the  hall,  and  get  the  rest  and  refresh 
ment  of  the  shaking  of  the  sides.  But  the  Comic 
also  has  its  own  speedy  limits.  Mirth  quickly  be 
comes  intemperate,  and  the  man  would  soon  die  of 
inanition,  as  some  persons  have  been  tickled  to 
death.  The  same  scourge  whips  the  joker  and  the 
enjoyer  of  the  joke.  When  Caiiini  was  convulsing 
Naples  with  laughter,  a  patient  waited  on  a  physi 
cian  in  that  city,  to  obtain  some  remedy  for  exces 
sive  melancholy,  which  was  rapidly  consuming  his 
life.  The  physician  endeavored  to  cheer  his  spirits, 
and  advised  him  to  go  to  the  theatre  and  see  Car* 
lini.  He  replied,  "  I  am  Caiiini.  " 


QUOTATION  AND   ORIGINALITY. 


QUOTATION  AND  OKIGINALITY. 


WHOEVER  looks  at  the  insect  world,  at  flies, 
aphides,  gnats,  and  innumerable  parasites,  and  even 
at  the  infant  mammals,  must  have  remarked  the  ex 
treme  content  they  take  in  suction,  which  consti 
tutes  the  main  business  of  their  life.  If  we  go  into 
a  library  or  news-room,  we  see  the  same  function  on 
a  higher  plane,  performed  with  like  ardor,  with 
equal  impatience  of  interruption,  indicating  the 
sweetness  of  the  act.  In  the  highest  civilization 
the  book  is  still  the  highest  delight.  He  who  has 
once  known  its  satisfactions  is  provided  with  a  re 
source  against  calamity.  Like  Plato's  disciple  who 
has  perceived  a  truth,  "  he  is  preserved  from  harm 
until  another  period.  "  In  every  man's  memory, 
with  the  hours  when  life  culminated  are  usually 
associated  certain  books  which  met  his  views.  Of 
a  large  and  powerful  class  we  might  ask  with  confi 
dence,  What  is  the  event  they  most  desire  ?  what 
gift  ?  What  but  the  book  that  shall  come,  which 
they  have  sought  through  all  libraries,  through  all 
languages,  that  shall  be  to  their  mature  eyes  what 


170  QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY. 

many  a  tinsel-covered  toy  pamphlet  was  to  their 
childhood,  and  shall  speak  to  the  imagination  ? 
Our  high  respect  for  a  well-read  man  is  praise 
enough  of  literature.  If  we  encountered  a  man  of 
rare  intellect,  we  should  ask  him  what  books  he 
read.  We  expect  a  great  man  to  be  a  good  reader  ; 
or  in  proportion  to  the  spontaneous  power  should 
be  the  assimilating  power.  And  though  such  are  a 
more  difficult  and  exacting  class,  they  are  not  less 
eager.  "  Pie  that  borrows  the  aid  of  an  equal 
understanding,  "  said  Burke,  "  doubles  his  own  ; 
he  that  uses  that  of  a  superior  elevates  his  own  to 
the  stature  of  that  he  contemplates. " 

We  prize  books,  and  they  prize  them  most  who 
are  themselves  wise.  Our  debt  to  tradition  through 
reading  and  conversation  is  so  massive,  our  protest 
or  private  addition  so  rare  and  insignificant,  —  and 
this  commonly  on  the  ground  of  other  reading  or 
hearing,  —  that,  in  a  large  sense,  one  would  say 
there  is  no  pure  originality.  All  minds  quote. 
Old  and  new  make  the  warp  and  woof  of  every  mo 
ment.  There  is  no  thread  that  is  not  a  twist  of 
these  two  strands.  By  necessity,  by  proclivity,  and 
by  delight,  we  all  quote.  We  quote  not  only  books 
and  proverbs,  but  arts,  sciences,  religion,  customs, 
and  laws  ;  nay,  we  quote  temples  and  houses,  tables 
and  chairs  by  imitation.  The  Patent-Office  Com 
missioner  knows  that  all  machines  in  use  have  been 


QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY.          171 

invented  and  re-invented  over  and  over  ;  that  the 
mariner's  compass,  the  boat,  the  pendulum,  glass, 
movable  types,  the  kaleidoscope,  the  railway,  the 
power-loom,  etc.,  have  been  many  times  found  and 
lost,  from  Egypt,  China,  and  Pompeii  down ;  and 
if  we  have  arts  which  Rome  wanted,  so  also  Rome 
had  arts  which  we  have  lost ;  that  the  invention  of 
yesterday  of  making  wood  indestructible  by  means 
of  vapor  of  coal-oil  or  paraffine  was  suggested  by 
the  Egyptian  method  which  has  preserved  its 
mummy-cases  four  thousand  years. 

The  highest  statement  of  new  philosophy  com 
placently  caps  itself  with  some  prophetic  maxim 
from  the  oldest  learning.  There  is  something  mor 
tifying  in  this  perpetual  circle.  This  extreme  econ 
omy  argues  a  very  small  capital  of  invention.  The 
stream  of  affection  flows  broad  and  strong ;  the 
practical  activity  is  a  river  of  supply ;  but  the 
dearth  of  design  accuses  the  penury  of  intellect. 
How  few  thoughts  !  In  a  hundred  years,  millions 
of  men  and  not  a  hundred  lines  of  poetry,  not  a 
theory  of  philosophy  that  offers  a  solution  of  the 
great  problems,  not  an  art  of  education  that  fulfils 
the  conditions.  In  this  delay  and  vacancy  of 
thought  we  must  make  the  best  amends  we  can  by 
seeking  the  wisdom  of  others  to  fill  the  time. 

If  we  confine  ourselves  to  literature,  't  is  easy  to 
see  that  the  debt  is  immense  to  past  thought. 


172  QUOTATION  AND   ORIGINALITY. 

None  escapes  it.  The  originals  are  not  original. 
There  is  imitation,  mo, lei,  and  suggestion,  to  the 
very  archangels,  if  we  knew  their  history.  The 
first  book  tyrannizes  over  the  second.  Read  Tasso, 
and  you  think  of  Virgil ;  read  Virgil,  and  you 
think  of  Homer ;  and  Milton  forces  you  to  reflect 
how  narrow  are  the  limits  of  human  invention. 
The  "  Paradise  Lost  "  had  never  existed  but  for 
these  precursors  ;  and  if  we  find  in  India  or  Arabia 
a  book  out  of  our  horizon  of  thought  and  tradition, 
we  are  soon  taught  by  new  researches  in  its  native 
country  to  discover  its  foregoers,  and  its  latent,  but 
real  connection  with,  our  own  Bibles. 

Read  in  Plato  and  you  shall  find  Christian  dog 
mas,  and  not  only  so,  but  stumble  on  our  evangel 
ical  phrases.  Hegel  pre-exists  in  Proelus,  and,  long 
before,  in  Heraclitus  and  Parmenides.  Whoso 
knows  Plutarch,  Lucian,  Rabelais,  Montaigne  and 
Bayle  will  have  a  key  to  many  supposed  originali 
ties.  Rabelais  is  tho  source  of  many  a  proverb, 
story,  and  jest,  derived  from  him  into  all  modern 
languages  ;  and  if  we  knew  Rabelais's  reading  we 
should  see  the  rill  of  the  Rabelais  river.  Sweden- 
borg,  Behmen,  Spinoza,  will  appear  original 'to  un- 
instructed  and  to  thoughtless  persons :  their  origi 
nality  will  disappear  to  such  as  are  either  well- 
read  or  thoughtful ;  for  scholars  will  recognize  their 
dogmas  as  reappearing  in  men  of  a  similar  inteL 


QUOTATION  AND   ORIGINALITY.          173 

lectual  elevation  throughout  history.  Albert,  the 
"  wonderful  doctor,"  St.  Buenaventura,  the  "  se 
raphic  doctor,"  Thomas  Aquinas,  the  "  angelic  doc 
tor  "  of  the  thirteenth  century,  whose  books  made 
the  sufficient  culture  of  these  ages,  Dante  absorbed, 
and  he  survives  for  us0  "  Renard  the  Fox, "  a 
German  poem  of  the  thirteenth  century,  was  long 
supposed  to  be  the  original  work,  until  Grimm 
found  fragments  of  another  original  a  century  older. 
M.  Le  Grand  showed  that  in  the  old  Fabliaux  were 
the  originals  of  the  tales  of  Moliere,  La  Fontaine, 
Boccaccio,  and  of  Voltaire. 

Mythology  is  no  man's  work  ;  but,  what  we  daily 
observe  in  regard  to  the  bon-mots  that  circulate  in 
society,  —  that  every  talker  helps  a  story  in  re 
peating  it,  until,  at  last,  from  the  slenderest  fila 
ment  of  fact  a  good  fable  is  constructed,  —  the 
same  growth  befalls  mythology  :  the  legend  is 
tossed  from  believer  to  poet,  from  poet  to  believer, 
everybody  adding  a  grace  or  dropping  a  fault  or 
rounding  the  form,  until  it  gets  an  ideal  truth. 

Religious  literature,  the  psalms  and  liturgies  of 
churches,  are  of  course  of  this  slow  growth,  —  a 
fagot  of  selections  gathered  through  ages,  leaving 
the  worse  and  saving  the  better,  until  it  is  at  last 
the  work  of  the  whole  communion  of  worshippers. 
The  Bible  itself  is  like  an  old  Cremona ;  it  has  been 
played  upon  by  the  devotion  of  thousands  of  years 


174  QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY. 

until  every  word  and  particle  is  public  and  tun 
able.  And  whatever  undue  reverence  may  have 
been  claimed  for  it  by  the  prestige  of  philonic  in 
spiration,  the  stronger  tendency  we  are  describing 
is  likely  to  undo.  What  divines  had  assumed  as 
the  distinctive  revelations  of  Christianity,  theologic 
criticism  has  matched  by  exact  parallelisms  from 
the  Stoics  and  poets  of  Greece  and  Rome.  Later, 
when  Confucius  and  the  Indian  scriptures  were 
made  known,  no  claim  to  monopoly  of  ethical  wis 
dom  could  be  thought  of;  and  the  surprising  re 
sults  of  the  new  researches  into  the  history  of 
Egypt  have  opened  to  us  the  deep  debt  of  the 
churches  of  Rome  and  England  to  the  Egyptian 
hierology. 

The  borrowing  is  often  honest  enough,  and  comes 
of  magnanimity  and  stoutness.  A  great  man  quotes 
bravely,  and  will  not  draw  on  his  invention  when 
his  memory  serves  him  with  a  word  as'  good.  What 
he  quotes,  he  fills  with  his  own  voice  and  humor, 
and  the  whole  cyclopaedia  of  his  table-talk  is  pres 
ently  believed  to  be  his  own.  Thirty  years  ago, 
when  Mr.  Webster  at  the  bar  or  in  the  Senate 
filled  the  eyes  and  minds  of  young  men,  you  might 
often  hear  cited  as  Mr.  Webster's  three  rules  :  first, 
never  to  do  to-day  what  he  could  defer  till  to-mor 
row  ;  secondly,  never  to  do  himself  what  he  could 
make  another  do  for  him  ;  and,  thirdly,  never  to 


QUOTATION  AND   ORIGINALITY.          175 

pay  any  debt  to-day.  Well,  they  are  none  the 
worse  for  being  already  told,  in  the  last  generation, 
of  Sheridan  ;  and  we  find  in  Grimm's  Memoires 
that  Sheridan  got  them  from  the  witty  D'Argen- 
son ;  who,  no  doubt,  if  we  could  consult  him,  could 
tell  of  whom  he  first  heard  them  told.  In  our  own 
college  days  we  remember  hearing  other  pieces  of 
Mr.  Webster's  advice  to  student.!,  —  among  others, 
this  :  that,  when  he  opened  a  new  book,  he  turned 
to  the  table  of  contents,  took  a  pen,  and  sketched 
a  sheet  of  matters  and  topics,  what  he  knew  and 
what  he  thought,  before  he  read  the  book.  But 
we  find  in  Southey's  "  Commonplace  Book  "  this 
said  of  the  Earl  of  Straff ord  :  "I  learned  one  rule 
of  him,"  says  Sir  G.  Radcliffe,  "  which  I  think 
worthy  to  be  remembered.  When  he  met  with  a 
well-penned  oration  or  tract  upon  any  subject,  he 
framed  a  speech  upon  the  same  argument,  invent 
ing  and  disposing  what  seemed  fit  to  be  said  upon 
that  subject,  before  he  read  the  book ;  then,  read 
ing,  compared  his  own  with  the  author's,  and  noted 
his  own  defects  and  the  author's  art  and  fulness  3 
whereby  he  drew  all  that  ran  in  the  author  more 
strictly,  and  might  better  judge  of  his  own  wants 
to  supply  them."  I  remember  to  have  heard  Mr. 
Samuel  Rogers^  in  London,  relate,  among  others, 
anecdotes  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  that  a  lady 
having  expressed  in  his  presence  a  passionate  wish 


176  QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY. 

to  witness  a  great  victory,  he  replied :  "  Madam, 
there  is  nothing  so  dreadful  as  a  great  victory, 
—  excepting  a  great  defeat."  But  this  speech  is 
also  D'Argensoii's,  and  is  reported  by  Grimm.  So 
the  sarcasm  attributed  to  Baron  Alderson  upon 
Brougham,  "  What  a  wonderful  versatile  mind  has 
Brougham !  he  knows  politics,  Greek,  history,  sci 
ence  ;  if  he  only  knew  a  little  of  law,  he  would 
know  a  little  of  everything."  You  may  find  the 
original  of  this  gibe  in  Grimm,  who  says  that  Louis 
XVI.,  going  out  of  chapel  after  hearing  a  sermon 
from  the  Abbe  Maury,  said,  "  Si  V Abbe  nous  avait 
parle  un  peu  da  religion,  il  nous  aurait  parle 
de  tout."  A  pleasantry  which  ran  through  all  the 
newspapers  a  few  years  since,  taxing  the  eccentrici 
ties  of  a  gifted  family  connection  in  New  England, 
was  only  a  theft  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu's 
mot  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  that  "  the  world  was 
made  up  of  men  and  women  and  Herveys." 

Many  of  the  historical  proverbs  have  a  doubtful 
paternity.  Columbus's  egg  is  claimed  for  Brunel- 
leschi.  Rabelais's  dying  words,  "  I  am  going  to 
see  the  great  Perhaps"  (le  grand  Peut-etre),  only 
repeats  the  "IF"  inscribed  on  the  portal  of  the 
temple  at  Delphi.  Goethe's  favorite  phrase,  "  the 
open  secret,"  translates  Aristotle's  answer  to  Alex 
ander,  "These  books  are  published  and  not  pub 
lished."  Madame  de  StaeTs  "  Architecture  is  fro 


QUOTATION  AND   ORIGINALITY.          177 

zen  music  "  is  borrowed  from  Goethe's  "  dumb  mu 
sic,''  which  is  Vitruvius's  rule,  that  "  the  architect 
must  not  only  understand  drawing,  but  music." 
Wordsworth's  hero  acting  "  on  the  plan  which 
pleased  his  childish  thought,"  is  Schiller's  "  Tell 
him  to  reverence  the  dreams  of  his  youth,"  and 
earlier,  Bacon's  "  Oonsilia  juventutis  plus  divird- 
tatis  liabent" 

In  romantic  literature  examples  of  this  vamping 
abound.  The  fine  verse  in  the  old  Scotch  ballad 
of  "  The  Drowned  Lovers," 

"  Thou  art  roaring  ower  loud,  Clyde  water, 

Thy  streams  are  ower  strang  ; 
Make  me  thy  wrack  when  I  come  back, 
But  spare  me  when  I  gang," 

is  a  translation  of  Martial's  epigram  on  Hero  and 
Leaiider,  where  the  prayer  of  Leander  is  the 
same :  — 

"  Parcite  dum  propero,  mergite  dum  recleo." 

Hafiz  furnished  Burns  with  the  song  of  "  John  Bar 
leycorn,"  and  furnished  Moore  with  the  original  of 
the  piece, 

"  When  in  death  I  shall  calm  recline 
Oh,  bear  my  heart  to  my  mistress  dear,"  etc. 

There  are  many  fables  which,  as  they  are  found 
in  every  language,  and  betray  no  sign  of  being 
borrowed,  are  said  to  be  agreeable  to  the  human 

VOL.  VIII.  12 


178  QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY. 

mind.  Such  are  "  The  Seven  Sleepers,"  "  Gyges's 
Ring,"  "  The  Travelling  Cloak,"  "  The  Wandering 
Jew,"  "The  Pied  Piper,"  "Jack  and  his  Bean 
stalk,"  the  "Lady  Diving  in  the  Lake  and  Rising 
in  the  Cave,"  —  whose  omnipresence  only  indicates 
how  easily  a  good  story  crosses  all  frontiers.  The 
popular  incident  of  Baron  Munchausen,  who  hung 
his  bugle  up  by  the  kitchen  fire  and  the  frozen  tuno 
thawed  out,  is  found  in  Greece  in  Plato's  time. 
Antiphanes,  one  of  Plato's  friends,  laughingly  com 
pared  his  writings  to  a  city  where  the  words  froze 
in  the  air  as  soon  as  they  were  pronounced,  and 
the  next  summer,  when  they  were  warmed  and 
melted  by  the  sun,  the  people  heard  what  had  been 
spoken  in  the  winter.  It  is  only  within  this  cen 
tury  that  England  and  America  discovered  that 
their  nursery-tales  were  old  German  and  Scandina 
vian  stories ;  and  now  it  appears  that  they  came 
from  India,  and  are  the  property  of  all  the  nations 
descended  from  the  Aryan  race,  and  have  been 
warbled  and  babbled  between  nurses  and  children 
for  unknown  thousands  of  years. 

If  we  observe  the  tenacity  with  which  nations 
cling  to  their  first  types  of  costume,  of  architecture, 
of  tools  and  methods  in  tillage,  and  of  decoration, 
—  if  we  learn  how  old  are  the  patterns  of  our 
shawls,  the  capitals  of  our  columns,  the  fret,  the 
beads,  and  other  ornaments  on  our  walls,  the  alter- 


QUOTATION  AND   ORIGINALITY.  179 

nate  lotus-bud  and  leaf -stem  of  our  iron  fences,  — 
we  shall  think  very  well  of  the  first  men,  or  ill  of 
the  latest. 

Now  shall  we  say  that  only  the  first  men  were 
well  alive,  and  the  existing  generation  is  invalided 
and  degenerate?  Is  all  literature  eavesdropping, 
and  all  art  Chinese  imitation?  our  life  a  custom, 
and  our  body  borrowed,  like  a  beggar's  dinner,  from 
a  hundred  charities  ?  A  more  subtle  and  severe 
criticism  might  suggest  that  some  dislocation  has 
befallen  the  race  ;  that  men  are  off  their  centre  ; 
that  multitudes  of  men  do  not  live  with  Nature, 
but  behold  it  as  exiles.  People  go  out  to  look  at 
sunrises  and  sunsets  who  do  not  recognize  their 
own,  quietly  and  happily,  but  know  that  it  is  for 
eign  to  them.  As  they  do  by  books,  so  they  quote 
the  sunset  and  the  star,  and  do  not  make  them 
theirs.  Worse  yet,  they  live  as  foreigners  in  the 
world  of  truth,  and  quote  thoughts,  and  thus  dis 
own  them.  Quotation  confesses  inferiority.  In 
opening  a  new  book  we  often  discover,  from  the  un 
guarded  devotion  with  which  the  writer  gives  his 
motto  or  text,  all  we  have  to  expect  from  him.  If 
Lord  Bacon  appears  already  in  the  preface,  I  go 
and  read  the  "  Instauration  "  instead  of  the  new 
book. 

The  mischief  is  quickly  punished  in  general  and 
in  particular.  Admirable  mimics  have  nothing  of 


180  QUOTATION  AND   ORIGINALITY. 

their  own.  In  every  kind  of  parasite,  when  Nature 
has  finished  an  aphis,  a  teredo,  or  a  vampire  bat,  — 
an  excellent  sucking-pipe  to  tap  another  animal,  or 
a  mistletoe  or  dodder  among  plants,  —  the  self-sup 
plying  organs  wither  and  dwindle,  as  being  super 
fluous.  In  common  prudence  there  is  an  early 
limit  to  this  leaning  on  an  original.  In  literature, 
quotation  is  good  only  when  the  writer  whom  I 
follow  goes  my  way,  and,  being  better  mounted 
than  I,  gives  me  a  cast,  as  we  say ;  but  if  I  like 
the  gay  equipage  so  well  as  to  go  out  of  my  road, 
I  had  better  have  gone  afoot. 

But  it  is  necessary  to  remember  there  are  certain 
considerations  which  go  far  to  qualify  a  reproach 
too  grave.  This  vast  mental  indebtedness  has  every 
variety  that  pecuniary  debt  has,  —  every  variety  of 
merit.  The  capitalist  of  either  kind  is  as  hungry 
to  lend  as  the  consumer  to  borrow ;  and  the  trans 
action  no  more,  indicates  intellectual  turpitude  in 
the  borrower  than  the  simple  fact  of  debt  in 
volves  bankruptcy.  On  the  contrary,  in  far  the 
greater  number  of  cases  the  transaction  is  honor 
able  to  both.  Can  we  not  help  ourselves  as  dis 
creetly  by  the  force  of  two  in  literature  ?  Certainly 
it  only  needs  two  well  placed  and  well  tempered 
for  co-operation,  to  get  somewrhat  far  transcending 
any  private  enterprise !  Shall  we  converse  as 
spies?  Our  very  abstaining  to  repeat  and  credit 


QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY.  181 

the  fine  remark  of  our  friend  is  thievish.  Each 
man  of  thought  is  surrounded  by  wiser  men  than 
he,  if  they  cannot  write  as  well.  Cannot  he  and 
they  combine  ?  Cannot  they  sink  their  jealousies 
in  God's  love,  and  call  their  poem  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher,  or  the  Theban  Phalanx's  ?  The  city  will 
for  nine  days  or  nine  years  make  differences  and 
sinister  comparisons  :  there  is  a  new  and  more  ex 
cellent  public  that  will  bless  the  friends.  Nay,  it 
is  an  inevitable  fruit  of  our  social  nature.  The 
child  quotes  his  father,  and  the  man  quotes  his 
friend.  Each  man  is  a  hero  and  an  oracle  to  some 
body,  and  to  that  person  whatever  he  says  has  an 
enhanced  value.  Whatever  we  think  and  say  is 
wonderfully  better  for  our  spirits  and  trust,  in  an 
other  mouth.  There  is  none  so  eminent  and  wise 
but  he  knows  minds  whose  opinion  confirms  or 
qualifies  his  own,  and  men  of  extraordinary  genius 
acquire  an  almost  absolute  ascendant  over  their 
nearest  companions.  The  Comte  de  Crilloii  said 
one  clay  to  M.  d'Allonville,  with  French  vivacity, 
"  If  the  universe  and  I  professed  one  opinion  and 
M.  Necker  expressed  a  contrary  one,  I  should  be  at 
once  convinced  that  the  universe  and  I  were  mis 
taken." 

Original  power  is  usually  accompanied  with  as 
similating  power,  and  we  value  in  Coleridge  his  ex 
cellent  knowledge  and  quotations  perhaps  as  much, 


182  QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY. 

possibly  more,  than  liis  original  suggestions.  If  an 
author  give  us  just  distinctions,  inspiring  lessons, 
or  imaginative  poetry,  it  is  not  so  important  to 
us  whose  they  are.  If  we  are  fired  and  guided 
by  these,  we  know  him  as  a  benefactor,  and  shall 
return  to  him  as  long  as  he  serves  us  so  well.  We 
may  like  well  to  know  what  is  Plato's  and  what  is 
Montesquieu's  or  Goethe's  part,  and  what  thought 
was  always  dear  to  the  writer  himself  ;  but  the 
worth  of  the  sentences  consists  in  their  radiancy 
and  equal  aptitude  to  all  intelligence.  They  fit  all 
our  facts  like  a  charm.  We  respect  ourselves  the 
more  that  we  know  them. 

Next  to  the  originator  of  a  good  sentence  is  the 
first  quoter  of  it.  Many  will  read  the  book  before 
"one  thinks  of  quoting  a  passage.  As  soon  as  he 
has  done  this,  that  line  will  be  quoted  east  and 
west.  Then  there  are  great  ways  of  borrowing. 
Genius  borrows  nobly.  When  Shakspeare  is 
charged  with  debts  to  his  authors,  Lanclor  replies : 
"  Yet  he  was  more  original  than  his  originals.  He 
breathed  upon  dead  bodies  and  brought  them  into 
life."  And  we  must  thank  Karl  Ottfried  Miiller 
for  the  just  remark,  "  Poesy,  drawing  within  its 
circle  all  that  is  glorious  and  inspiring,  gave  itself 
but  little  concern  as  to  where  its  flowers  originally 
grew."  So  Voltaire  usually  imitated,  but  with 
such  superiority  that  Dubuc  said  :  "  He  is  like  the 


QUOTATION  AND   ORIGINALITY^ W  183 

false  Amphitryon;  although  the  stranger,v  i^^is  ' 
always  he  who  has  the  air  of  being  master  of  the""" 
house."  Wordsworth,  as  soon  as  he  heard  a  good 
thing,  caught  it  up,  meditated  upon  it,  and  very 
soon  reproduced  it  in  his  conversation  and  writing. 
If  De  Quincey  said,  rt  That  is  what  I  told  you," 
he  replied,  "No:  that  is  mine,  —  mine,  and  not 
yours."  On  the  whole,  we  like  the  valor  of  it. 
'T  is  on  Marmontel's  principle,  "  I  pounce  on  what 
is  mine,  wherever  I  find  it;"  and  on  Bacon's 
broader  rule,  "  I  take  all  knowledge  to  be  my  pro 
vince."  It  betrays  the  consciousness  that  truth  is 
the  property  of  no  individual,  but  is  the  treasure  of 
all  men.  And  inasmuch  as  any  writer  has  ascended 
to  a  just  view  of  man's  condition,  he  has  adopted 
this  tone.  In  so  far  as  the  receiver's  aim  is  on  life, 
and  not  on  literature,  will  be  his  indifference  to  the 
source.  The  nobler  the  truth  or  sentiment,  the  less 
imports  the  question  of  authorship.  It  never 
troubles  the  simple  seeker  from  whom  he  derived 
such  or  such  a  sentiment.  Whoever  expresses  to  us 
a  just  thought  makes  ridiculous  the  pains  of  the 
critic  who  should  tell  him  where  such  a  word  had 
been  said  before.  "It  is  no  more  according  to 
Plato  than  according  to  me.  "  Truth  is  always 
present :  it  only  needs  to  lift  the  iron  lids  of  the 
mind's  eye  to  read  its  oracles.  But  the  moment 
there  is  the  purpose  of  display,  the  fraud  is  exposed. 


184  QUO  TA  TION  AND  OPd  GIN  A  LIT  Y.  » 

In  fact,  it  is  as  difficult  to  appropriate  the  thoughts 
of  others,  as  it  is  to  invent.  Always  some  steep 
transition,  some  sudden  alteration  of  temperature, 
or  of  point  of  view,  betrays  the  foreign  interpolation. 
There  is,  besides,  a  new  charm  in  such  intellec 
tual  works  as,  passing  through  long  time,  have  had 
a  multitude  of  authors  and  improvers.  We  admire 
that  poetry  which  no  man  wrote,  —  no  poet  less 
than  the  genius  of  humanity  itself,  —  which  is  to 
be  read  in  a  mythology,  in  the  effect  of  a  fixed  or 
national  style  of  pictures,  of  sculptures,  or  drama, 
or  cities,  or  sciences,  on  us.  Such  a  poem  also  is 
language.  Every  word  in  the  language  has  once 
been  used  happily.  The  ear,  caught  by  that  felicity, 
retains  it,  and  it  is  used  again  and  again,  as  if  the 
charm  belonged  to  the  word  and  not  to  the  life  of 
thought  which  so  enforced  it.  These  profane  uses, 
of  course,  kill  it,  and  it  is  avoided.  But  a  quick 
wit  can  at  any  time  reinforce  it,  and  it  comes  into 
vogue  again.  Then  people  quote  so  differently  : 
one  finding  only  what  is  gaudy  and  popular ; 
another,  the  heart  of  the  author,  the  report  of  his 
select  and  happiest  hour ;  and  the  reader  sometimes 
giving  more  to  the  citation  than  he  owes  to  it. 
Most  of  the  classical  citations  you  shall  hear  or 
read  in  the  current  journals  or  speeches  were  not 
drawn  from  the  originals,  but  from  previous  quo 
tations  in  English  books ;  and  you  can  easily  pro- 


QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY.          185 

nounce,  from  the  use  and  relevancy  of  the  sentence, 
whether  it  had  not  done  duty  many  times  before,  — 
whether  your  jewel  was  got  from  the  mine  or  from 
an  auctioneer.  We  are  as  much  informed  of  a 
writer's  genius  by  what  he  selects  as  by  what  he 
originates.  We  read  the  quotation  with  his  eyes, 
and  find  a  new  and  fervent  sense ;  as  a  passage 
from  one  of  the  poets,  well  recited,  borrows  new 
interest  from  the  rendering.  As  the  journals  say, 
"  the  italics  are  ours. "  The  profit  of  books  is 
according  to  the  sensibility  of  the  reader.  The  pro- 
fcundest  thought  or  passion  sleeps  as  in  a  mine  un 
til  an  equal  mind  and  heart  finds  and  publishes  it. 
The  passages  of  Shakspeare  that  we  most  prize 
were  never  quoted  until  within  this  century;  and 
Milton's  prose,  and  Burke,  even,  have  their  best 
fame  within  it.  Every  one,  too,  remembers  his 
friends  by  their  favorite  poetry  or  other  reading. 

Observe  also  that  a  writer  appears  to  more  ad 
vantage  in  the  pages  of  another  book  than  in  his 
own.  In  his  own  he  waits  as  a  candidate  for  your 
approbation  ;  in  another's  he  is  a  lawgiver. 

Then  another's  thoughts  have  a  certain  advan 
tage  with  us  simply  because  they  are  another's. 
There  is  an  illusion  in  a  new  phrase.  A  man  hears 
a  fine  sentence  out  of  Swedenborg,  and  wonders  at 
the  wisdom,  and  is  very  merry  at  heart  that  he  has 
now  got  so  fine  a  thing.  Translate  it  out  of  the 


186  QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY. 

new  words  into  Ms  own  usual  phrase,  and  lie  will 
wonder  again  at  his  own  simplicity,  such  tricks  do 
fine  words  play  with  us. 

It  is  curious  what  new  interest  an  old  author 
acquires  by  official  canonization  in  Tiraboschi,  or 
Dr.  Johnson,  or  Von  Hanmier-Purgstall,  or  Hallam, 
or  other  historian  of  literature.  Their  registration 
of  his  book,  or  citation  of  a  passage,  carries  the  senti 
mental  value  of  a  college  diploma.  Hallam,  though 
never  profound,  is  a  fair  mind,  able  to  appreciate 
poetry  unless  it  becomes  deep,  being  always  blind 
and  deaf  to  imaginative  and  analogy-loving  souls, 
like  the  Platonists,  like  Giordano  Bruno,  like 
Donne,  Herbert,  Crashaw,  and  Yaughan  ;  and  Hal 
lam  cites  a  sentence  from  Bacon  or  Sidney,  and 
distinguishes  a  lyric  of  Edwards  or  Vaux,  and 
straightway  it  commends  itself  to  us  as  if  it  had  re 
ceived  the  Isthmian  crown. 

It  is  a  familiar  expedient  of  brilliant  writers,  and 
not  less  of  witty  talkers,  the  device  of  ascribing 
their  own  sentence  to  an  imaginary  person,  in  order 
to  give  it  weight,  —  as  Cicero,  Cowley,  Swift,  Lan- 
dor,  and  Carlyle  have  done.  And  Cardinal  de  Retz, 
at  a  critical  moment  in  the  Parliament  of  Paris, 
described  himself  in  an  extemporary  Latin  sentence, 
which  he  pretended  to  quote  from  a  classic  author, 
and  which  told  admirably  well.  It  is  a  curious 
reflex  effect  of  this  enhancement  of  our  thought  by 


QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY.          187 

citing  it  from  another,  that  many  men  can  write 
better  under  a  mask  than  for  themselves ;  as  Chat- 
terton  in  archaic  ballad,  Le  Sage  in  Spanish  cos 
tume,  Macpherson  as  "  Ossian ;  "  and,  I  doubt  not, 
many  a  young  barrister  in  chambers  in  London, 
who  forges  good  thunder  for  the  "  Times, "  but 
never  works  as  well  under  his  own  name.  This  is  a 
sort  of  dramatizing  talent ;  as  it  is  not  rare  to  find 
great  powers  of  recitation,  without  the  least  original 
eloquence,  —  or  people  who  copy  drawings  with 
admirable  skill,  but  are  incapable  of  any  design. 

In  hours  of  high  mental  activity  we  sometimes  do 
the  book  too  much  honor,  reading  out  of  it  better 
things  than  the  author  wrote,  —  reading,  as  we  say, 
between  the  lines.  You  have  had  the  like  experi 
ence  in  conversation :  the  wit  was  in  what  you  heard, 
not  in  what  the  speakers  said.  Our  best  thought 
came  from  others.  We  heard  in  their  words  a  deeper 
sense  than  the  speakers  put  into  them,  and  could 
express  ourselves  in  other  people's  phrases  to  finer 
purpose  than  they  knew.  In  Moore's  Diary,  Mr. 
Ilallam  is  reported  as  mentioning  at  dinner  one  of 
his  friends  who  had  said,  "  I  don't  know  how  it  is, 
a  thing  that  falls  flat  from  me  seems  quite  an 
excellent  joke  when  given  at  second-hand  by  Sher 
idan.  I  never  like  my  own  bon-mots  until  he 
adopts  them."  Dumont  was  exalted  by  being  used 
by  Mirabeau,  by  Bentham,  and  by  Sir  Philip  Fran- 


188  QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY. 

cis,  who,  again,  was  less  than  his  own  "  Junitis  ; " 
and  James  Hogg  (except  in  his  poems  "  Kilmeny  " 
and  "The  Witch  of  Fife")  is  but  a  third-rate 
author,  owing  his  fame  to  his  effigy  colossali/ed 
through  the  lens  of  John  Wilson,  —  who,  again, 
writes  better  under  the  domino  of  "  Christopher 
North  "  than  in  his  proper  clothes.  The  bold  theory 
of  Delia  Bacon,  that  Shakspeare's  plays  were  writ 
ten  by  a  society  of  wits,  —  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
Lord  Bacon,  and  others  around  the  Earl  of  South 
ampton, —  had  plainly  for  her  the  charm  of  the 
superior  meaning  they  would  acquire  when  read 
under  this  light ;  this  idea  of  the  authorship  con 
trolling  our  appreciation  of  the  works  themselves. 
We  once  knew  a  man  overjoyed  at  the  notice  of  his 
pamphlet  in  a  leading  newspaper.  What  range  he 
gave  his  imagination!  Who  could  have  written 
it  ?  Was  it  not  Colonel  Carbine,  or  Senator  Toni- 
trus,  or,  at  the  least,  Professor  Maximilian  ?  Yes, 
he  could  detect  in  the  style  that  fine  Roman  hand. 
How  it  seemed  the  very  voice  of  the  refined  and 
discerning  public,  inviting  merit  at  last  to  consent 
to  fame,  and  come  up  and  take  place  in  the  re 
served  and  authentic  chairs !  He  carried  the  jour 
nal  with  haste  to  the  sympathizing  Cousin  Matilda, 
who  is  so  proud  of  all  we  do.  But  what  dismay 
when  the  good  Matilda,  pleased  with  his  pleasure, 
confessed  she  had  written  the  criticism,  and  carried 


QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY.          189 

it  with  her  own  hands  to  the  postoffice !     "  Mr. 
Wordsworth, "  said  Charles  Lamb,  "  allow  me  to 

v 

introduce  to  you  my  only  admirer. " 

Swedenborg  threw  a  formidable  theory  into  the 
world,  that  every  soul  existed  in  a  society  of  souls, 
from  which  all  its  thoughts  passed  into  it,  as  the 
blood  of  the  mother  circulates  in  her  unborn  child ; 
and  he  noticed  that,  when  in  his  bed,  alternately 
sleeping  and  waking,  —  sleeping,  he  was  sur 
rounded  by  persons  disputing  and  offering  opinions 
on  the  one  side  and  on  the  other  side  of  a  proposi 
tion  ;  waking,  the  like  suggestions  occurred  for  and 
against  the  proposition  as  his  own  thoughts  ;  sleep 
ing  again,  he  saw  and  heard  the  speakers  as  before  : 
and  this  as  often  as  he  slept  or  waked.  And  if  we 
expand  the  image,  does  it  not  look  as  if  we  men 
were  thinking  and  talking  out  of  an  enormous  an 
tiquity,  as  if  we  stood,  not  in  a  coterie  of  prompters 
that  filled  a  sitting-room,  but  in  a  circle  of  intel 
ligences  that  reached  through  all  thinkers,  poets, 
inventors,  and  wits,  men  and  women,  English,  Ger 
man,  Celt,  Aryan,  Ninevite,  Copt,  —  back  to  the 
first  geometer,  bard,  mason,  carpenter,  planter,  shep 
herd,  —  back  to  the  first  negro,  who.  with  more 
health  or  better  perception,  gave  a  shriller  sound  or 
name  for  the  thing  he  saw  and  dealt  with  ?  Our 
benefactors  are  as  many  as  the  children  who  in 
vented  speech,  word  by  word.  Language  is  a  city 


190 


QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY. 


to  the  building  of  which  every  human  being  brought 
a  stone ;  yet  he  is  no  more  to  be  credited  with  the 
grand  result  than  the  acaleph  which  adds  a  cell  to 
the  coral  reef  which  is  the  basis  of  the  continent. 

ILdvTa  pet :  all  things  are  in  flux.  It  is  inevitable 
that  you  are  indebted  to  the  past.  You  are  fed  and 
formed  by  it.  The  old  forest  is  decomposed  for 
the  composition  of  the  new  forest.  The  old  ani 
mals  have  given  their  bodies  to  the  earth  to  furnish 
through  chemistry  the  forming  race,  and  every  in 
dividual  is  only  a  momentary  fixation  of  what  was 
yesterday  another's,  is  to-day  his,  and  will  belong 
to  a  third  to-morrow.  So  it  is  in  thought.  Our 
knowledge  is  the  amassed  thought  and  experience 
of  innumerable  minds  :  our  language,  our  science, 
our  religion,  our  opinions,  our  fancies  wre  inherited. 
Our  country,  customs,  laws,  our  ambitions,  and  our 
notions  of  fit  and  fair,  —  all  these  we  never  made, 
we  found  them  ready-made  ;  we  but  quote  them. 
Goethe  frankly  said,  "  What  would  remain  to  me 
if  this  art  of  appropriation  were  derogatory  to  gen 
ius  ?  Every  one  of  my  writings  has  been  furnished 
to  me  by  a  thousand  different  persons,  a  thousand 
things :  wise  and  foolish  have  brought  me,  without 
suspecting  it,  the  offering  of  their  thoughts,  facul 
ties,  and  experience.  My  work  is  an  aggregation 
of  beings  taken  from  the  whole  of  nature ;  it  bears 
the  name  of  Goethe." 


QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY.          191 

But  there  remains  the  indefeasible  persistency  of 
the  individual  to  Be  himself.  One  leaf,  one  blade 
of  grass,  one  meridian,  does  not  resemble  another. 
Every  mind  is  different ;  and  the  more  it  is  un 
folded,  the  more  pronounced  is  that  difference.  He 
must  draw  the  elements  into  him  for  food,  and,  if 
they  be  granite  and  silex,  will  prefer  them  cooked 
by  sun  and  rain,  by  time  and  art,  to  his  hand. 
But,  however  received,  these  elements  pass  into  the 
substance  of  his  constitution,  will  be  assimilated, 
and  tend  always  to  form,  not  a  partisan,  but  a  pos 
sessor  of  truth.  To  all  that  can  be  said  of  the  pre 
ponderance  of  the  Past,  the  single  word  Genius  is 
a  sufficient  reply.  The  divine  resides  in  the  new. 
The  divine  never  quotes,  but  is,  and  creates.  The 
profound  apprehension  of  the  Present  is  Genius, 
which  makes  the  Past  forgotten.  Genius  believes 
its  faintest  presentiment  against  the  testimony  of 
all  history  ;  for  it  knows  that  facts  are  not  ulti- 
mates,  but  that  a  state  of  mind  is  the  ancestor  of 
everything.  And  what  is  Originality  ?  It  is  being, 
being  one's  self,  and  reporting  accurately  what  we 
see  and  are.  Genius  is  in  the  first  instance,  sensi 
bility,  the  capacity  of  receiving  just  impressions 
from  the  external  world,  and  the  power  of  co-ordi 
nating  these  after  the  laws  of  thought.  It  implies 
Will,  or  original  force,  for  their  right  distribution 
and  expression.  If  to  this  the  sentiment  of  piety 


192  QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY, 

be  added,  if  the  tliinker  feels  that  the  thought  most 
strictly  his  own  is  not  his  own,  and  recognizes  the 
perpetual  suggestion  of  the  Supreme  Intellect,  the 
oldest  thoughts  become  new  and  fertile  whilst  he 
speaks  them. 

Originals  never  lose  their  value.  There  is  al 
ways  in  them  a  style  and  weight  of  speech,  which 
the  immanence  of  the  oracle  bestowed,  and  which 
cannot  be  counterfeited.  Hence  the  permanence 
of  the  high  poets.  Plato,  Cicero,  and  Plutarch 
cite  the  poets  in  the  manner  in  which  Scripture  is 
quoted  in  our  churches.  A  phrase  or  a  single  word 
is  adduced,  with  honoring  emphasis,  from  Pindar, 
Hesiod,  or  Euripides,  as  precluding  all  argument, 
because  thus  had  they  said  :  importing  that  the 
bard  spoke  not  his  own,  but  the  words  of  some  god. 
True  poets  have  always  ascended  to  this  lofty  plat 
form,  and  met  this  expectation.  Shakspeare,  Mil 
ton,  Wordsworth,  were  very  conscious  of  their  re 
sponsibilities.  When  a  man  thinks  happily,  he 
finds  no  foot-track  in  the  field  he  traverses.  All 
spontaneous  thought  is  irrespective  of  all  else. 
Pindar  uses  this  haughty  defiance,  as  if  it  were 
impossible  to  find  his  sources :  "  There  are  many 
swift  darts  within  my  quiver,  which  have  a  voice 
for  those  with  understanding  ;  but  to  the  crowd 
they  need  interpreters.  He  is  gifted  with  genius 
who  knoweth  much  by  natural  talent." 


QUOTATION  AND   ORIGINALITY.          193 

Our  pleasure  in  seeing  each  mind  take  the  sub 
ject  to  which  it  has  a  proper  right  is  seen  in  mere 
fitness  in  time.  He  that  comes  second  must  needs 
quote  him  that  comes  first.  The  earliest  describers 
of  savage  life,  as  Captain  Cook's  account  of  the  So 
ciety  Islands,  or  Alexander  Henry's  travels  among 
our  Indian  tribes,  have  a  charm  of  truth  and  just 
point  of  view.  Landsmen  and  sailors  freshly  come 
from  the  most  civilized  countries,  and  with  no  false 
expectation,  no  sentimentality  yet  about  wild  life, 
healthily  receive  and  report  what  they  saw,  —  see 
ing  what  they  must,  and  using  no  choice ;  and  no 
man  suspects  the  superior  merit  of  the.  description, 
until  Chateaubriand,  or  Moore,  or  Campbell,  or 
Byron,  or  the  artists,  arrive,  and  mix  so  much  art 
with  their  picture  that  the  incomparable  advantage 
of  the  first  narrative  appears.  For  the  same  reason 
we  dislike  that  the  poet  should  choose  an  antique 
or  far-fetched  subject  for  his  muse,  as  if  he  avowed 
want  of  insight.  The  great  deal  always  with  the 
nearest.  Only  as  braveries  of  too  prodigal  power 
can  we  pardon  it,  when  the  life  of  genius  is  so  re 
dundant  that  out  of  petulance  it  flings  its  fire  into 
some  old  mummy,  and,  lo !  it  walks  and  blushes 
again  here  in  the  street. 

We  cannot  overstate  our  debt  to  the  Past,  but 
the  moment  has  the  supreme  claim.  The  Past  is 
for  us  ;  but  the  sole  terms  on  which  it  can  become 

VOL.    VHI.  13 


194          QUOTATION  AND  ORIGINALITY. 

ours  are  its  subordination  to  the  Present.  Only  an 
inventor  knows  how  to  borrow,  and  every  man  is 
or  should  be  an  inventor.  We  must  not  tamper 
with  the  organic  motion  of  the  soul.  'T  is  certain 
that  thought  has  its  own  proper  motion,  and  the 
hints  which  flash  from  it,  the  words  overheard  at 
unawares  by  the  free  mind,  are  trustworthy  and 
fertile  when  obeyed  and  not  perverted  to  low  and 
selfish  account.  This  vast  memory  is  only  raw  ma 
terial.  The  divine  gift  is  ever  the  instant  life, 
which  receives  and  uses  and  creates,  and  can  well 
bury  the  old  in  the  omnipotency  with  which  Nature 
decomposes  all  her  harvest  for  recomposition. 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

ADDRESS  READ  BEFORE  THE  <3?  B  K  SOCIETY  AT  CAM 
BRIDGE,  JULY  18,  1867. 


WE  meet  to-day  under  happy  omens  to  our  an 
cient  society,  to  the  commonwealth  of  letters,  to 
the  country,  and  to  mankind.  No  good  citizen  but 
shares  the  wonderful  prosperity  of  the  Federal 
Union.  The  heart  still  beats  with  the  public  pulse 
of  joy  that  the  country  has  withstood  the  rude 
trial  which  threatened  its  existence,  and  thrills  with 
the  vast  augmentation  of  strength  which  it  draws 
from  this  proof.  The  storm  which  has  been  re 
sisted  is  a  crown  of  honor  and  a  pledge  of  strength 
to  the  ship.  We  may  be  well  contented  with  our 
fair  inheritance.  Was  ever  such  coincidence  of  ad 
vantages  in  time  and  place  as  in  America  to-day  ? 
—  the  fusion  of  races  and  religions ;  the  hungry 
cry  for  men  which  goes  up  from  the  wide  conti 
nent  ;  the  answering  facility  of  immigration,  per 
mitting  every  wanderer  to  choose  his  climate  and 
government.  Men  come  hither  by  nations.  Sci 
ence  surpasses  the  old  miracles  of  mythology,  to 


198  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

fly  with  them  over  the  sea,  and  to  send  their  mes 
sages  under  it.  They  come  from  crowded,  anti 
quated  kingdoms  to  the  easy  sharing  of  our  simple 
forms.  Land  without  price  is  offered  to  the  settler, 
cheap  education  to  his  children.  The  temper  of 
our  people  delights  in  this  whirl  of  life.  Who 
would  live  in  the  stone  age,  or  the  bronze,  or  the 
iron,  or  the  lacustrine  ?  Who  does  not  prefer  the 
age  of  steel,  of  gold,  of  coal,  petroleum,  cotton, 
steam,  electricity,  and  the  spectroscope  ? 

"  Prisca  juvent  alios,  ego  me  mine  denique  natum 
Gratulor." 

All  this  activity  has  added  to  the  value  of  life,  and 
to  the  scope  of  the  intellect.  I  will  not  say  that 
American  institutions  have  given  a  new  enlarge 
ment  to  our  idea  of  a  finished  man,  but  they  have 
added  important  features  to  the  sketch. 

Observe  the  marked  ethical  quality  of  the  inno 
vations  urged  or  adopted.  The  new  claim  of  woman 
to  a  political  status  is  itself  an  honorable  testimony 
to  the  civilization  which  has  given  her  a  civil 
status  new  in  history.  Now  that  by  the  increased 
humanity  of  law  she  controls  her  property,  she  in 
evitably  takes  the  next  step  to  her  share  in  power. 
The  war  gave  us  the  abolition  of  slavery,  the  suc 
cess  of  the  Sanitary  Commission  and  of  the  Freed- 
men's  Bureau.  Add  to  these  the  new  scope  of 
social  science  ;  the  abolition  of  capital  punishment 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  199 

and  of  imprisonment  for  debt ;  the  improvement  of 
prisons;  the  efforts  for  the  suppression  of  intem 
perance  ;  the  search  for  just  rules  affecting  labor  ; 
the  co-operative  societies ;  the  insurance  of  life  and 
limb ;  the  free-trade  league  ;  the  improved  alms- 
houses  ;  the  enlarged  scale  of  charities  to  relieve 
local  famine,  or  burned  towns,  or  the  suffering 
Greeks ;  the  incipient  series  of  international  con 
gresses  ;  —  all,  one  may  say,  in  a  high  degree  rev 
olutionary,  teaching  nations  the  taking  of  govern 
ment  into  their  own  hands,  and  superseding  kings. 

The  spirit  is  new.  A  silent  revolution  has  im 
pelled,  step  by  step,  all  this  activity.  A  great 
many  full-blown  conceits  haA^e  burst.  The  cox 
comb  goes  to  the  wall.  To  his  astonishment  he  has 
found  that  this  country  and  this  age  belong  to  the 
most  liberal  persuasion ;  that  the  day  of  ruling  by  I 
scorn  and  sneers  is  past ;  that  good  sense  is  now  in 
power,  and  that  resting  on  a  vast  constituency  of 
intelligent  labor,  and,  better  yet,  on  perceptions  less 
and  less  dim  of  laws  the  most  sublime.  Men  are  v 
now  to  be  astonished  by  seeing  acts  of  good-nature, 
common  civility,  and  Christian  charity  proposed  by 
statesmen,  and  executed  by  justices  of  the  peace,— 
by  policemen  and  the  constable.  The  fop  is  unable 
to  cut  the  patriot  in  the  street ;  nay,  he  lies  at  his 
mercy  in  the  ballot  of  the  club. 

Mark,  too,  the  large  resources  of  a  statesman,  of 


200  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

a  socialist,  of  a  scholar,  in  this  age.  When  classes 
are  exasperated  against  each  other,  the  peace  of  the 
world  is  always  kept  by  striking  a  new  note.  In 
stantly  the  units  part,  and  form  in  a  new  order,  and 
those  who  were  opposed  are  now  side  by  side.  In 
this  country  the  prodigious  mass  of  work  that  must 
be  done  has  either  made  new  divisions  of  labor  or 
created  new  professions.  Consider,  at  this  time, 
what  variety  of  issues,  of  enterprises  public  and 
private,  what  genius  of  science,  what  of  administra 
tion,  what  of  practical  skill,  what  masters,  each  in 
his  several  province,  the  railroad,  the  telegraph,  the 
mines,  the  inland  and  marine  explorations,  the 
novel  and  powerful  philanthropies,  as  well  as  agri 
culture,  the  foreign  trade  and  the  home  trade 
(whose  circuits  in  this  country  are  as  spacious  as 
the  foreign),  manufactures,  the  very  inventions,  all 
on  a  national  scale  too,  have  evoked  !  —  all  imply 
ing  the  appearance  of  gifted  men,  the  rapid  ad 
dition  to  our  society  of  a  class  of  true  nobles,  by 
which  the  self-respect  of  each  town  and  State  is 
enriched. 

Take  as  a  type  the  boundless  freedom  here  in 
Massachusetts.  People  have  in  all  countries  been 
burned  and  stoned  for  saying  things  which  are 
commonplaces  at  all  our  breakfast-tables.  Every 
one  who  was  in  Italy  thirty-five  years  ago  will  re 
member  the  caution  with  which  his  host  or  guest 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  201 

in  any  house  looked  around  him,  if  a  political  topic 
were  broached.  Here  the  tongue  is  free,  and  the 
hand;  and  the  freedom  of  action  goes  to  the  brink, 
if  not  over  the  brink,  of  license. 

A  controlling  influence  of  the  times  has  been  the 
wide  and  successful  study  of  Natural  Science. 
Steffeiis  said,  "  The  religious  opinions  of  men  rest"! 
011  their  views  of  nature."  Great  strides  have  been—' 
made  within  the  present  century.  Geology,  as 
tronomy,  chemistry,  optics,  have  yielded  grand 
results.  The  correlation  of  forces  and  the  polariza 
tion  of  light  have  carried  us  to  sublime  generaliza 
tions,  —  have  affected  an  imaginative  race  like 
poetic  inspirations.  We  have  been  taught  to  tread 
familiarly  on  giddy  heights  of  thought,  and  to  wont 
ourselves  to  daring  conjectures.  The  narrow  sec 
tarian  cannot  read  astronomy  with  impunity.  The 
creeds  of  his  church  shrivel  like  dried  leaves  at  the 
door  of  the  observatory,  and  a  new  and  healthful 
air  regenerates  the  human  mind,  and  imparts  a 
sympathetic  enlargement  to  its  inventions  and 
method.  That  cosmical  west-wind  which,  meteo 
rologists  tell  us,  constitutes,  by  the  revolution  of  the 
globe,  the  upper  current,  is  alone  broad  enough  to 
carry  to  every  city  and  suburb,  to  the  farmer's 
house,  the  miner's  shanty,  and  the  fisher's  boat,  the 
inspirations  of  this  new  hope  of  mankind.  Now,  if 
any  one  say  we  have  had  enough  of  these  boastful 


202  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

recitals,  then  I  say,  Happy  is  the  land  wherein  ben 
efits  like  these  have  grown  trite  and  common 
place. 

We  confess  that  in  America  everything  looks 
new  and  recent.  Our  towns  are  still  rude,  the 
make-shifts  of  emigrants,  and  the  whole  archi 
tecture  tent-like  when  compared  with  the  monu 
mental  solidity  of  medieval  and  primeval  remains 
in  Europe  and  Asia.  But  geology  has  effaced  these 
distinctions.  Geology,  a  science  of  forty  or  fifty 
summers,  has  had  the  effect  to  throw  an  air  of 
novelty  and  mushroom  speed  over  entire  history. 
The  oldest  empires,  —  what  we  called  venerable 
antiquity,  —  now  that  we  have  true  measures  of 
duration,  show  like  creations  of  yesterday.  It  is 
yet  quite  too  early  to  draw  sound  conclusions. 
The  old  six  thousand  years  of  chronology  become  a 
kitchen  clock,  no  more  a  measure  of  time  than  an 
hour-glass  or  an  egg-glass  since  the  duration  of  ge 
ologic  periods  has  come  into  view.  Geology  itself 
is  only  chemistry  with  the  element  of  time  added ; 
and  the  rocks  of  Nahant  or  the  dikes  of  the 
White  Hills  disclose  that  the  world  is  a  crystal, 
and  the  soil  of  the  valleys  and  plains  a  continual 
decomposition  and  recomposition.  Nothing  is  old 
but  the  mind. 

But  I  find  not  only  this  equality  between  new 
and  old  countries,  as  seen  by  the  eye  of  science, 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  203 

but  also  a  certain  equivalence  of  the  ages  of  his 
tory;  and  as  the  child  is  in  his  playthings  work 
ing  incessantly  at  problems  of  natural  philosophy, 
working  as  hard  and  as  successfully  as  Newton, 
so  it  were  ignorance  not  to  see  that  each  nation 
and  period  has  done  its  full  part  to  make  up  the 
result  of  existing  civility.  We  are  all  agreed 
that  we  have  not  on  the  instant  better  men  to  show 
than  Plutarch's  heroes.  The  world  is  always 
equal  to  itself.  We  cannot  yet  afford  to  drop 
Homer,  nor  JEschylus,  nor  Plato,  nor  Aristotle, 
nor  Archimedes.  Later,  each  European  nation, 
after  the  breaking  up  of  the  Roman  Empire,  had 
its  romantic  era,  and  the  productions  of  that  era 
in  each  rose  to  about  the  same  height.  Take  for 
an  example  in  literature  the  Romance  of  Arthur, 
in  Britain,  or  in  the  opposite  province  of  Brittany ; 
the  Chanson  de  Holand,  in  France ;  the  Chroniclo 
of  the  Cid,  in  Spain ;  the  Niebelungen  Lied,  in 
Germany  ;  the  Norse  Sagas,  in  Scandinavia ;  and, 
I  may  add,  the  Arabian  Nights,  on  the  African 
coast.  But  if  these  works  still  survive  and  multi 
ply,  what  shall  we  say  of  names  more  distant,  or 
hidden  through  their  very  superiority  to  their  coe 
vals,  —  names  of  men  who  have  left  remains  that 
certify  a  height  of  genius  in  their  several  directions 
not  since  surpassed,  and  which  men  in  proportion 
to  their  wisdom  still  cherish,  —  as  Zoroaster,  Con- 


204  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

fucius,  and  the  grand  scriptures,  only  recently 
known  to  Western  nations,  of  the  Indian  Vedas, 
the  Institutes  of  Menu,  the  Puranas,  the  poenis 
of  the  Mahabarat  and  the  Ramayana  ? 

In  modern  Europe,  the  Middle  Ages  were  called 
the  Dark  Ages.  Who  dares  to  call  them  so  now  ? 
They  are  seen  to  be  the  feet  on  which  we  walk, 
the  eyes  with  which  we  see.  It  is  one  of  our 
triumphs  to  have  reinstated  them.  Their  Dante 
and  Alfred  and  Wickliffe  and  Abelard  and  Bacon  ; 
their  Magna  Charta,  decimal  numbers,  mariner's 
compass,  gunpowder,  glass,  paper,  and  clocks ; 
chemistry,  algebra,  astronomy ;  their  Gothic  archi 
tecture,  their  painting,  are  the  delight  and  tuition 
of  ours.  Six  hundred  years  ago  Roger  Bacon  ex 
plained  the  precession  of  the  equinoxes  and  the 
necessity  of  reform  in  the  calendar ;  looking  over 
how  many  horizons  as  far  as  into  Liverpool  and 
New  York,  he  announced  that  machines  can  be 
constructed  to  drive  ships  more  rapidly  than  a 
whole  galley  of  rowers  could  do,  nor  would  they 
need  anything  but  a  pilot  to  steer ;  carriages,  to 
move  with  incredible  speed,  without  aid  of  ani 
mals  ;  and  machines  to  fly  into  the  air  like  birds. 
Even  the  races  that  we  still  call  savage  or  semi- 
savage,  and  which  preserve  their  arts  from  im 
memorial  traditions,  vindicate  their  faculty  by 
the  skill  with  which  they  make  their  yam-cloths, 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  205 

pipes,  bows,  boats,  and  carved  war-clubs.  The 
war-proa  of  the  Malays  in  the  Japanese  waters 
struck  Commodore  Perry  by  its  close  resemblance 
to  the  yacht  "  America.  " 

As  we  find  thus  a  certain  equivalence  in  the 
ages,  there  is  also  an  equipollence  of  individual 
genius  to  the  nation  which  it  represents.  It  is 
a  curious  fact  that  a  certain  enormity  of  culture 
makes  a  man  invisible  to  his  contemporaries.  It 
is  always  hard  to  go  beyond  your  public.  If  they 
are  satisfied  with  cheap  performance,  you  will  not 
easily  arrive  at  better.  If  they  know  what  is 
good,  and  require  it,  you  will  aspire  and  burn 
until  you  achieve  it.  But,  from  time  to  time  in 
history,  men  are  born  a  whole  age  too  soon.  The 
founders  of  nations,  the  wise  men  and  inventors 
who  shine  afterwards  as  their  gods,  were  probably 
martyrs  in  their  own  time.  All  the  transcendent 
writers  and  artists  of  the  world,  —  't  is  doubtful 
who  they  were,  they  are  lifted  so  fast  into  mythol 
ogy  ;  Homer,  Menu,  Viasa,  Daedalus,  Hermes,  Zo 
roaster,  even  Swedenborg  and  Shakspeare.  The 
early  names  are  too  typical,  —  Homer,  or  blind 
man;  Menu,  or  man ;  Viasa,  compiler  ;  Daedalus, 
cunning  ;  Hermes,  interpreter;  and  so  on.  Prob 
ably  the  men  were  so  great,  so  self-fed,  that  the 
recognition  of  them  by  others  was  not  necessary 
to  them.  And  every  one  has  heard  the  remark 


206  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

(too  often,  I  fear,  politely  made),  that  the  philoso 
pher  was  above  his  audience.  I  think  I  have 
seen  two  or  three  great  men  who,  for  that  reason, 
were  of  no  account  among  scholars. 

But  Jove  is  in  his  reserves.  The  truth,  the  hope 
of  any  time,  must  always  be  sought  in  the  minori 
ties.  Michel  Angelo  was  the  conscience  of  Italy. 
We  grow  free  with  his  name,  and  find  it  ornamen 
tal  now :  but  in  his  own  days  his  friends  were  few ; 
and  you  would  need  to  hunt  him  in  a  conventicle 
with  the  Methodists  of  the  era,  namely,  Savonarola, 
Vittoria  Colonna,  Contarini,  Pole,  Occhino  ;  supe 
rior  souls,  the  religious  of  that  day,  drawn  to  each 
other  and  under  some  cloud  with  the  rest  of  the 
world ;  reformers,  the  radicals  of  the  hour,  banded 
against  the  corruptions  of  Rome,  and  as  lonely  and 
as  hated  as  Dante  before  them. 

I  find  the  single  mind  equipollent  to  a  multitude 
of  minds,  say  to  a  nation  of  minds,  as  a  drop  of 
water  balances  the  sea ;  and  under  this  view  the 
problem  of  culture  assumes  wonderful  interest. 
Culture  implies  all  which  gives  the  mind  possession 
of  its  own  powers ;  as  languages  to  the  critic,  tele 
scope  to  the  astronomer.  Culture  alters  the  politi 
cal  status  of  an  individual.  It  raises  a  rival  roy 
alty  in  a  monarchy.  'T  is  king  against  king.  It 
is  ever  the  romance  of  history  in  all  dynasties,  — 
the  co-presence  of  the  revolutionary  force  in  iutel- 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  207 

lect.  It  creates  a  personal  independence  which  the 
monarch  cannot  look  down,  and  to  which  he  must 
often  succumb.  If  a  man  know  the  laws  of  nature 
better  than  other  men,  his  nation  cannot  spare  him ; 
nor  if  he  know  the  power  of  numbers,  the  secret  of 
geometry,  of  algebra ;  on  which  the  computations 
of  astronomy,  of  navigation,  of  machinery,  rest.  If 
he  can  converse  better  than  any  other,  he  rules  the 
minds  of  men  wherever  he  goes  ;  if  he  has  imagi 
nation,  he  intoxicates  men.  If  he  has  wit,  he  tem 
pers  despotism  by  epigrams :  a  song,  a  satire,  a 
sentence,  has  played  its  part  in  great  events.  Elo 
quence  a  hundred  times  has  turned  the  scale  of  war 
and  peace  at  will.  The  history  of  Greece  is  at  one 
time  reduced  to  two  persons,  —  Philip,  or  the  suc 
cessor  of  Philip,  on  one  side,  and  Demosthenes,  a 
private  citizen,  on  the  other.  If  he  has  a  military 
genius,  like  Belisarius,  or  administrative  faculty, 
like  Chatham  or  Bismarck,  he  is  the  king's  king. 
If  a  theologian  of  deep  convictions  and  strong  un 
derstanding  carries  his  country  with  him,  like  Lu 
ther,  the  state  becomes  Lutheran,  in  spite  of  the 
Emperor  ;  as  Thomas  a  Becket  overpowered  the 
English  Henry.  Wit  has  a  great  charte  •.  Popes 
and  kings  and  Councils  of  Ten  are  very  sharp  with 
their  censorships  and  inquisitions,  but  it  is  on  dull 
people.  Some  Dante  or  Angelo,  Rabelais,  Ilafiz, 
Cervantes,  Erasmus,  Beranger,  Bettine  von  Arnini, 


208  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

or  whatever  genuine  wit  of  the  old  inimitable  class, 
is  always  allowed.  Kings  feel  that  this  is  that 
wiiich  they  themselves  represent ;  this  is  no  red- 
kerchiefed,  red-shirted  rebel,  but  loyalty,  kingship. 
This  is  real  kingship,  and  their  own  only  titular. 
Even  manners  are  a  distinction  which,  we  some 
times  see,  are  not  to  be  overborne  by  rank  or  offi 
cial  power,  or  even  by  other  eminent  talents,  since 
they  too  proceed  from  a  certain  deep  innate  percep 
tion  of  fit  and  fair. 

It  is  too  plain  that  a  cultivated  laborer  is  worth 
many  untaught  laborers  ;  that  a  scientific  engineer, 
with  instruments  and  steam,  is  worth  many  hun 
dred  men,  many  thousands  ;  that  Archimedes  or 
Napoleon  is  worth  for  labor  a  thousand  thousands, 
and  that  in  every  wise  and  genial  soul  we  have 
Er  ]land,  Greece,  Italy,  walking,  and  can  dispense 
witii  populations  of  navvies. 

Literary  history  and  all  history  is  a  record  of 
the  power  of  minorities,  and  of  minorities  of  one. 
Every  book  is  written  with  a  constant  secret  refer 
ence  to  the  few  intelligent  persons  whom  the  writer 
believes  to  exist  in  the  million.  The  artist  has  al 
ways  the  masters  in  his  eye,  though  he  affect  to 
flout  them.  Michel  Angelo  is  thinking  of  Da 
Vinci,  and  Raffaelle  is  thinking  of  Michel  Angelo. 
Tennyson  would  give  his  fame  for  a  verdict  in  his 
favor  from  Wordsworth.  Agassiz  and  Owen  and 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  209 

Huxley  affect  to  address  the  American  and  Eng 
lish  people,  but  are  really  writing  to  each  other. 
Everett  dreamed  of  Webster.  McKay,  the  ship 
builder,  thinks  of  George  Steers ;  and  Steers,  of 
Pook,  the  naval  constructor.  The  names  of  the 
masters  at  the  head  of  each  department  of  science, 
art,  or  function  are  often  little  known  to  the  world, 
but  are  always  known  to  the  adepts  ;  as  Robert 
Brown  in  botany,  and  Gauss  in  mathematics.  Often 
the  master  is  a  hidden  man,  but  not  to  the  true 
student  ;  invisible  to  all  the  rest,  resplendent  to 
him.  All  his  own  work  and  culture  form  the  eye 
to  see  the  master.  In  politics,  mark  the  impor 
tance  of  minorities  of  one,  as  of  Phocion,  Cato,  La 
fayette,  Arago.  The  importance  of  the  one  person 
who  has  the  truth  over  nations  who  have  it  not,  is 
because  power  obeys  reality,  and  not  appear;  ince ; 
according  to  quality,  and  not  quantity.  How  much 
more  are  men  than  nations  !  the  wise  and  good 
souls,  the  stoics  in  Greece  and  Rome,  Socrates  in 
Athens,  the  saints  in  Judea,  Alfred  the  king,  Shak- 
speare  the  poet,  Newton  the  philosopher,  the  per- 
ceiver  and  obeyer  of  truth,  —  than  the  foolish  and 
sensual  millions  around  them  !  So  that,  wherever 
a  true  man  appears,  everything  usually  reckoned 
great  dwarfs  itself ;  he  is  the  only  great  event,  and 
it  is  easy  to  lift  him  into  a  mythological  personage. 
Then  the  next  step  in  the  series  is  the  equiva- 

VOL.    VIII.  14 


210  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

lence  of  the  soul  to  nature.  I  said  that  one  of  the 
distinctions  of  our  century  has  been  the  devotion 
of  cultivated  men  to  natural  science.  The  benefits 
thence  derived  to  the  arts  and  to  civilization  are 
signal  and  immense.  They  are  felt  in  navigation, 
in  agriculture,  in  manufactures,  in  astronomy,  in 
mining,  and  in  war.  But  over  all  their  utilities, 
I  must  hold  their  chief  value  to  be  metaphysical. 
The  chief  value  is  not  the  useful  powers  he  ob 
tained,  but  the  test  it  has  been  of  the  scholar.  He 
has  accosted  this  immeasurable  nature,  and  got 
clear  answers.  He  understood  what  he  read.  He 
found  agreement  with  himself.  It  taught  him  anew 
the  reach  of  the  human  mind,  and  that  it  was  citi 
zen  of  the  universe. 

The  first  quality  we  know  in  matter  is  centrality, 

—  we  call  it  gravity,  —  which  holds  the  universe 
together,  which  remains  pure  and  indestructible  in 
each  mote  as  in  masses  and  planets,  and  from  each 
atom  rays  out  illimitable  influence.     To  this  mate 
rial  essence  answers  Truth,  in  the  intellectual  world, 

—  Truth,  whose  centre  is  everywhere  and  its  cir 
cumference   nowhere,  whose    existence  we   cannot 
disimagine  ;   the  soundness  and  health  of  tilings, 
against  which  no  blow  can  be  struck  but  it  recoils 
on  the  striker ;    Truth,  on  whose  side  we  always 
heartily  are.     And  the  first  measure  of  a  mind  is 
its  centrality,  its  capacity  of  truth,  and  its  adhesion 
to  it. 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  211 

When  the  correlation  of  the  sciences  was  an 
nounced  by  Oersted  and  his  colleagues,  it  was  no 
surprise  ;  we  were  found  already  prepared  for  it. 
The  fact  stated  accorded  with  the  auguries  or  divi 
nations  of  the  human  mind.  Thus,  if  we  should 
analyze  Newton's  discovery,  we  should  say  that  if 
it  had  not  been  anticipated  by  him,  it  would  not 
have  been  found.  We  are  told  that  in  posting  his 
books,  after  the  French  had  measured  on  the  earth 
a  degree  of  the  meridian,  when  he  saw  that  his 
theoretic  results  were  approximating  that  empirical 
one,  his  hand  shook,  the  figures  danced,  and  he  was 
so  agitated  that  he  was  forced  to  call  in  an  assistant 
to  finish  the  computation.  Why  agitated?  —  but 
because,  when  he  saw,  in  the  fall  of  an  apple  to  the 
ground,  the  fall  of  the  earth  to  the  sun,  of  the  sun 
and  of  all  suns  to  the  centre,  that  perception  was 
accompanied  by  the  spasm  of  delight  by  which  the 
intellect  greets  a  fact  more  immense  still,  a  fact 
really  universal,  —  holding  in  intellect  as  in  matter, 
in  morals  as  in  intellect,  —  that  atom  draws  to  atom 
throughout  nature,  and  truth  to  truth  throughout 
spirit  ?  His  law  was  only  a  particular  of  the  more 
universal  law  of  centrality.  Every  law  in  nature, 
as  gravity,  centripetence,  repulsion,  polarity,  undu 
lation,  has  a  counterpart  in  the  intellect.  The  laws 
above  are  sisters  of  the  laws  below.  Shall  we  study 
the  mathematics  of  the  sphere,  and  not  its  causal 


212  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

essence  also  ?  Nature  is  a  fable  whose  moral  blazes 
through  it.  There  is  no  use  in  Copernicus  if  the 
robust  periodicity  of  the  solar  system  does  not 
show  its  equal  perfection  in  the  mental  sphere,  the 
periodicity,  the  compensatory  errors,  the  grand  re 
actions.  I  shall  never  believe  that  centrifugence 
and  centripetence  balance,  unless  mind  heats  and 
meliorates,  as  well  as  the  surface  and  soil  of  the 
globe. 

On  this  power,  this  all-dissolving  unity,  the  em 
phasis  of  heaven  and  earth  is  laid.  Nature  is  brute 
but  as  this  soul  quickens  it ;  Nature,  always  the 
effect,  mind  the  flowing  cause.  Nature,  we  find,  is 
ever  as  is  our  sensibility  ;  it  is  hostile  to  ignorance, 
• —  plastic,  transparent,  delightful,  to  knowledge. 
Mind  carries  the  law ;  history  is  the  slow  and 
atomic  unfolding.  All  things  admit  of  this  ex 
tended  sense,  and  the  universe  at  last  is  only  pro 
phetic,  or,  shall  we  say,  symptomatic,  of  vaster  in 
terpretation  and  results.  Nature  is  an  enormous 
system,  but  in  mass  and  in  particle  curiously  avail 
able  to  the  humblest  need  of  the  little  creature 
that  walks  on  the  earth  !  The  immeasurableness 
of  Nature  is  not  more  astounding  than  his  power 
to  gather  all  her  omnipotence  into  a  manageable 
rod  or  wedge,  bringing  it  to  a  hair-point  for  the  eye 
and  hand  of  the  philosopher. 

Here  stretches  out  of  sight,  out  of  conception 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  21\ 

oven,  this  vast  Nature,  daunting,  bewildering,  but 
all  penetrable,  all  self-similar ;  an  unbroken  unity, 
and  the  mind  of  man  is  a  key  to  the  whole.  Ho 
finds  that  the  universe,  as  Newton  said,  was  "  made 
at  one  cast ; "  the  mass  is  like  the  atom,  —  the 
same  chemistry,  gravity  and  conditions.  The  as 
teroids  are  the  chips  of  an  old  star,  and  a  meteoric 
stone  is  a  chip  of  an  asteroid.  As  language  is  in 
the  alphabet,  so  is  entire  Nature,  the  play  of  all  its 
laws,  in  one  atom.  The  good  wit  finds  the  law 
from  a  single  observation,  —  the  law,  and  its  limi 
tations,  and  its  correspondences,  —  as  the  farmer 
finds  his  cattle  by  a  footprint.  "  State  the  sun, 
and  you  state  the  planets,  and  conversely." 

Whilst  its  power  is  offered  to  his  hand,  its  laws 
to  his  science,  not  less  its  baauty  speaks  to  his 
taste,  imagination,  and  sentiment.  Nature  is  sana 
tive,  refining,  elevating.  How  cunningly  she  hides 
every  wrinkle  of  her  inconceivable  antiquity  under 
roses  and  violets  and  morning  dew  !  Every  inch 
of  the  mountains  is  scarred  by  unimaginable  con 
vulsions,  yet  the  new  day  is  purple  with  the  bloom 
of  youth  and  love.  Look  out  into  the  July  night 
and  see  the  broad  belt  of  silver  flame  which  flashes 
up  the  half  of  heaven,  fresh  and  delicate  as  the 
bonfires  of  the  meadow-flies.  Yet  the  powers  of 
numbers  cannot  compute  its  enormous  age,  lasting 
as  space  and  time,  embosomed  in  time  and  space. 


214  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

And  time  and  space,  —  what  are  they  ?  Our  first 
problems,  which  we  ponder  all  our  lives  through, 
and  leave  where  we  found  them  ;  whose  outrunning 
immensity,  the  old  Greeks  believed,  astonished  the 
gods  themselves ;  of  whose  dizzy  vastitudes  all  the 
worlds  of  God  are  a  mere  dot  on  the  margin ;  im 
possible  to  deny,  impossible  to  believe.  Yet  the 
moral  element  in  man  counterpoises  this  dismaying 
immensity  and  bereaves  it  of  terror.  The  highest 
flight  to  which  the  muse  of  Horace  ascended  was 
in  that  triplet  of  lines  in  which  he  described  the 
souls  which  can  calmly  confront  the  sublimity  of 
Nature  :  — 

"  Hunc  solem,  et  stellas,  et  decedentia  certis 
Tempora  momentis,  sunt  qui  formidine  nulla 
Imbuti  spectant." 

The  sublime  point  of  experience  is  the  value  of 
a  sufficient  man.  Cube  this  value  by  the  meeting 
of  two  such,  of  two  or  more  such,  who  understand 
and  support  each  other,  and  you  have  organized 
victory.  At  any  time,  it  only  needs  the  contempo 
raneous  appearance  of  a  few  superior  and  attractive 
men  to  give  a  new  and  noble  turn  to  the  public 
mind. 

The  benefactors  we  have  indicated  were  excep 
tional  men,  and  great  because  exceptional.  The 
question  which  the  present  age  urges  with  increas 
ing  emphasis,  day  by  day,  is,  whether  the  high 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  215 

qualities  which  distinguished  them  can  be  im 
parted.  The  poet  Wordsworth  asked,  "  What  one 
is,  why  may  not  millions  be  ?  "  Why  not  ?  Knowl 
edge  exists  to  be  imparted.  Curiosity  is  lying  in 
wait  for  every  secret.  The  inquisitiveness  of  the 
child  to  hear  runs  to  meet  tho  eagerness  of  the 
parent  to  explain.  The  air  does  not  rush  to  fill  a 
vacuum  with  such  speed  as  the  mind  to  catch  the 
expected  fact.  Every  artist  was  first  an  amateur. 
The  ear  outgrows  the  tongue,  is  sooner  ripe  and 
perfect ;  but  the  tongue  is  always  learning  to  say 
what  the  ear  has  taught  it,  and  the  hand  obeys  the 
same  lesson. 

There  is  anything  but  humiliation  in  the  homage 
men  pay  to  a  great  man ;  it  is  sympathy,  love  of 
the  same  things,  effort  to  reach  them,  —  the  expres 
sion  of  their  hope  of  what  they  shall  become  when 
the  obstructions  of  their  mal-formatioii  and  mal- 
education  shall  be  trained  away.  Great  men  shall 
not  impoverish,  but  enrich  us.  Great  men,  —  the 
age  goes  on  their  credit ;  but  all  the  rest,  when 
their  wires  are  continued  and  not  cut,  can  do  as 
signal  things,  and  in  new  parts  of  nature.  "  No 
angel  in  his  heart  acknowledges  any  one  superior 
to  himself  but  the  Lord  alone."  There  is  not  a 
person  here  present  to  whom  omens  that  should 
astonish  have  not  predicted  his  future,  have  not 
uncovered  his  past.  The  dreams  of  the  night  sup- 


216  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

plement  by  their  divination  the  imperfect  experi 
ments  of  the  day.  Every  soliciting  instinct  is  only 
a  hint  of  a  coming  fact,  as  the  air  and  water  that 
hang  invisibly  around  us  hasten  to  become  solid  in 
the  oak  and  the  animal.  But  the  recurrence  to 
high  sources  is  rare.  In  our  daily  intercourse,  we 
go  with  the  crowd,  lend  ourselves  to  low  fears  and 
hopes,  become  the  victims  of  our  own  arts  and  im 
plements,  and  disuse  our  resort  to  the  Divine  ora 
cle.  It  is  only  in  the  sleep  of  the  soul  that  we  help 
ourselves  by  so  many  ingenious  crutches  and  ma 
chineries.  What  is  the  use  of  telegraphs  ?  What 
of  newspapers  ?  To  know  in  each  social  crisis  how 
men  feel  in  Kansas,  in  California,  the  wise  man 
waits  for  no  mails,  reads  no  telegrams.  He  asks 
his  own  heart.  If  they  are  made  as  he  is,  if  they 
breathe  the  like  air,  eat  of  the  same  wheat,  have 
wives  and  children,  he  knows  that  their  joy  or  re 
sentment  rises  to  the  same  point  as  his  own.  The 
inviolate  soul  is  in  perpetual  telegraphic  communi 
cation  with  the  Source  of  events,  has  earlier  infor 
mation,  a  private  despatch,  which  relieves  him  of 
the  terror  which  presses  on  the  rest  of  the  commu 
nity. 

\1  1       The  foundation  of  culture,  as  of  character,  is  at 

I  last  the  moral  sentiment.     This  is  the  fountain  of 

'  power,  preserves  its  eternal  newness,  draws  its  own 

rent  out  of  every  novelty  in  science.     Science  cor- 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  217 

rects  the  old  creeds ;  sweeps  away,  with  every  new 
perception,  our  infantile  catechisms,  and  necessi 
tates  a  faith  commensurate  with  the  grander  orbits 
and  universal  laws  which  it  discloses.  Yet  it  does 
not  surprise  the  moral  sentiment.  That  was  older, 
and  awaited  expectant  these  larger  insights. 

The  affections  are  the  wings  by  which  the  intel 
lect  launches  on  the  void,  and  is  borne  across  it. 
Great  love  is  the  inventor  and  expander  of  the 
frozen  powers,  the  feathers  frozen  to  our  sides.  It 
was  the  conviction  of  Plato,  of  Van  Helmont,  of 
Pascal,  of  Swedenborg,  that  piety  is  an  essential 
condition  of  science,  that  great  thoughts  come  from 
the  heart.  It  happens  sometimes  that  poets  do  not 
believe  their  own  poetry ;  they  are  so  much  the  less 
poets.  But  great  men  are  sincere.  Great  men  are 
they  who  see  that  spiritual  is  stronger  than  any 
material  force,  that  thoughts  rule  the  world.  No 
hope  so  bright  but  is  the  beginning  of  its  own  ful 
filment.  Every  generalization  shows  the  way  to 
a  larger.  Men  say,  Ah  !  if  a  man  could  impart  his 
talent,  instead  of  his  performance,  what  mountains 
of  guineas  would  be  paid  !  Yes,  but  in  the  meas 
ure  of  his  absolute  veracity  he  does  impart  it. 
When  he  does  not  play  a  part,  does  not  wish  to 
shine, —  when  he  talks  to  men  with  the  unrestrained 
frankness  which  children  use  with  each  other,  he 
communicates  himself,  and  not  his  vanity.  All 


218  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

vigor  is  contagious,  and  when  we  see  creation  we 
also  begin  to  create.  Depth  of  character,  height 
of  genius,  can  only  find  nourishment  in  this  soil. 
The  miracles  of  genius  always  rest  on  profound 
convictions  which  refuse  to  be  analyzed.  Enthusi 
asm  is  the  leaping  lightning,  not  to  be  measured  by 
the  horse-power  of  the  understanding.  Hope  never 
spreads  her  golden  wings  but  on  unfathomable  seas. 
The  same  law  holds  for  the  intellect  as  for  the  will. 
When  the  will  is  absolutely  surrendered  to  the 
moral  sentiment,  that  is  virtue ;  when  the  wit  is 
surrendered  to  intellectual  truth,  that  is  genius. 
Talent  for  talent's  sake  is  a  bauble  and  a  show. 
Talent  working  with  joy  in  the  cause  of  universal 
truth  lifts  the  possessor  to  new  power  as  a  benefac 
tor.  I  know  well  to  what  assembly  of  educated,  re 
flecting,  successful  and  powerful  persons  I  speak. 
Yours  is  the  part  of  those  who  have  received  much. 
It  is  an  old  legend  of  just  men,  Noblesse  oblige  ; 
or,  superior  advantages  bind  you  to  larger  generos 
ity.  Now  I  conceive  that,  in  this  economical  world, 
where  every  drop  and  every  crumb  is  husbanded, 
the  transcendent  powers  of  mind  were  not  meant 
to  be  misused.  The  Divine  Nature  carries  on  its 
administration  by  good  men.  Here  you  are  set 
down,  scholars  and  idealists,  as  in  a  barbarous  age ; 
amidst  insanity,  to  calm  and  guide  it ;  amidst  fools 
and  blind,  to  see  the  right  done  ;  among  violent 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  219 

proprietors,  to  check  self-interest,  stone-blind  and 
stone-deaf,  by  considerations  of  humanity  to  the 
workman  and  to  his  child  ;  amongst  angry  politi 
cians  swelling  with  self-esteem,  pledged  to  parties, 
pledged  to  clients,  you  are  to  make  valid  the  large 
considerations  of  equity  and  good  sense ;  under  bad 
governments  to  force  on  them,  by  your  persistence, 
good  laws.  Around  that  immovable  persistency  of 
yours,  statesmen,  legislatures,  must  revolve,  deny 
ing  you,  but  not  less  forced  to  obey. 

We  wish  to  put  the  ideal  rules  into  practice,  to 
offer  liberty  instead  of  chains,  and  see  whether 
liberty  will  not  disclose  its  proper  checks  ;  believ 
ing  that  a  free  press  will  prove  safer  than  the  cen 
sorship  ;  to  ordain  free  trade,  and  believe  that  it 
will  not  bankrupt  us ;  universal  suffrage,  believing 
that  it  will  not  carry  us  to  mobs,  or  back  to  kings 
again.  I  believe  that  the  checks  are  as  sure  as  the 
springs.  It  is  thereby  that  men  are  great  and  have 
great  allies.  And  who  are  the  allies  ?  Rude  oppo 
sition,  apathy,  slander,  —  even  these.  Difficulties 
exist  to  be  surmounted.  The  great  heart  will  no 
more  complain  of  the  obstructions  that  make  suc 
cess  hard,  than  of  the  iron  walls  of  the  gun  which 
hinder  the  shot  from  scattering.  It  was  walled 
round  with  iron  tube  with  that  purpose,  to  give  it 
irresistible  force  in  one  direction.  A  strenuous 
soul  hates  cheap  successes.  It  is  the  ardor  of  the 


220  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

assailant  that  makes  tho  vigor  of  the  defender/ 
The  great  are  not  tender  at  being  obscure,  despised, 
insulted.  Such  only  feel  themselves  in  adverse 
fortune.  Strong  men  greet  war,  tempest,  hard 
times,  which  search  till  they  find  resistance  and  bot 
tom.  They  wish,  as  Pindar  said,  "  to  tread  the  floors 
of  hell,  with  necessities  as  hard  as  iron."  Periodic 
ity,  reaction,  are  laws  of  mind  as  well  as  of  matter. 
Bad  kings  and  governors  help  us,  if  only  they  are 
bad  enough.  In  England,  it  was  the  game  laws 
which  exasperated  the  farmers  to  carry  the  Reform 
Bill.  It  was  what  we  call  plantation  manners 
which  drove  peaceable  forgiving  New  England  to 
emancipation  without  phrase.  In  the  Rebellion, 
who  were  our  best  allies  ?  Always  the  enemy.  The 
community  of  scholars  do  not  know  their  own 
power,  and  dishearten  each  other  by  tolerating 
political  baseness  in  their  members.  Now  nobody 
doubts  the  power  of  manners,  or  that  wherever 
high  society  exists  it  is  very  well  able  to  exclude 
pretenders.  The  intruder  finds  himself  uncomfort 
able,  and  quickly  departs  to  his  own  gang. 

It  has  been  our  misfortune  that  the  politics  of 
America  have  been  often  immoral.  It  has  had  the 
worst  effect  on  character.  We  are  a  complaisant, 
forgiving  people,  presuming,  perhaps,  on  a  feeling 
of  strength.  But  it  is  not  by  easy  virtue,  where 
the  public  is  concerned,  that  heroic  results  are  ob- 


PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE.  2i 

tained.  We  have  suffered  our  young  men  of  ambi 
tion  to  play  the  game  of  politics  and  take  the  im 
moral  side  without  loss  of  caste,  —  to  come  and  go 
without  rebuke.  But  that  kind  of  loose  association 
does  not  leave  a  man  his  own  master.  He  cannot 
go  from  the  good  to  the  evil  at  pleasure,  and  then 
back  again  to  the  good.  There  is  a  text  in  Sweden- 
borg  which  tells  in  figure  the  plain  truth.  He  saw 
in  vision  the  angels  and  the  devils ;  but  these  two 
companies  stood  not  face  to  face  and  hand  in  hand, 
but  foot  to  foot,  —  these  perpendicular  up,  and 
those  perpendicular  down. 

Brothers,  1  draw  new  hope  from  the  atmos-1 
phere  we  breathe  to-day,  from  the  healthy  senti-i 
ment  of  the  American  people,  and  from  the  avowed  | 
aims  and  tendencies  of  the  ^jicaiecLclass.  The 
age  has  new  convictions.  We  know  that  in  certain 
historic  periods  there  have  been  times  of  nega 
tion,  —  a  decay  of  thought,  and  a  consequent  na 
tional  decline ;  that  in  France,  at  one  time,  there 
was  almost  a  repudiation  of  the  moral  sentiment 
in  what  is  called,  by  distinction,  society,  —  not  a 
believer  within  the  Church,  and  almost  not  a  the- 
ist  out  of  it.  In  England  the  like  spiritual  dis 
ease  affected  the  upper  class  in  the  time  of  Charles 
II.,  and  down  into  the  reign  of  the  Georges.  But 
it  honorably  distinguishes  the  educated  class  here, 
that  they  believe  in  the  succor  which  the  heart 


222  PROGRESS  OF  CULTURE. 

yields  to  the  intellect,  and  draw  greatness  from  its 
inspirations.  And  when  I  say  the  educated  class, 
I  know  what  a  benignant  breadth  that  word  has, 
—  new  in  the  world,  —  reaching  millions  instead 
of  hundreds.  And  more,  when  I  look  around  me, 
and  consider  the  sound  material  of  which  the  cul 
tivated  class  here  is  made  up,  —  what  high  per 
sonal  worth,  what  love  of  men,  what  hope,  is  joined 
with  rich  information  and  practical  power,  and 
that  the  most  distinguished  by  genius  arid  culture 
jjft.in  this  class  of  benefactors,  —  I  cannot  distrust 
this  great  knighthood  of  virtue,  or  doubt  that  the 
interests  of  science,  of  letters,  of  politics  and  hu 
manity,  are  safe.  I  think  their  hands  are  strong 
enough  to  hold  up  the  Republic.  I  read  the  prom 
ise  of  better  times  and  of  greater  men. 


PERSIAN  POETRY. 


PERSIAN  POETEY. 


To  Baron  von  Hammer  Purgstall,  who  died  in 
Vienna  in  1856,  we  owe  our  best  knowledge  of  the 
Persians.  He  has  translated  into  German,  besides 
the  "  Divan  "  of  Hafiz,  specimens  of  two  hundred 
poets  who  wrote  during  a  period  of  five  and  a  half 
centuries,  from  A.D.  1050  to  1600.  The  seven  mas 
ters  of  the  Persian  Parnassus  —  Firdusi,  Enweri, 
Nisami,  Jelaleddin,  Saadi,  Hafiz,  and  Jam!  —  have 
ceased  to  be  empty  names ;  and  others,  like  Feri- 
dedclin  Attar  and  Omar  Khayyam,  promise  to  rise 
in  Western  estimation.  That  for  which  mainly 
books  exist  is  communicated  in  these  rich  extracts. 
Many  qualities  go  to  make  a  good  telescope,  — 
as  the  largeness  of  the  field,  facility  of  sweeping 
the  meridian,  achromatic  purity  of  lenses,  and  so 
forth ;  but  the  one  eminent  value  is  the  space-pene 
trating  power  ;  and  there  are  many  virtues  in  books, 
but  the  essential  value  is  the  adding  of  knowledge 
to  our  stock  by  the  record  of  new  facts,  and,  better, 
by  the  record  of  intuitions  which  distribute  facts, 
and  are  the  formulas  which  supersede  all  histories. 

VOL.   VIII.  15 


226  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

Oriental  life  and  society,  especially  in  the  South 
ern  nations,  stand  in  violent  contrast  with  the  mul 
titudinous  detail,  the  secular  stability,  and  the  vast 
average  of  comfort  of  the  Western  nations.  Life 
in  the  East  is  fierce,  short,  hazardous,  and  in  ex 
tremes.  Its  elements  are  few  and  simple,  not  ex 
hibiting  the  long  range  and  undulation  of  Euro 
pean  existence,  but  rapidly  reaching  the  best  and 
the  worst.  The  rich  feed  on  fruits  and  game,  — 
the  poor,  on  a  watermelon's  peel.  All  or  nothing  is 
the  genius  of  Oriental  life.  Favor  of  the  Sultan, 
or  his  displeasure,  is  a  question  of  Fate.  A  war  is 
undertaken  for  an  epigram  or  a  distich,  as  in  Europe 
for  a  duchy.  The  prolific  sun  and  the  sudden  and 
rank  plenty  which  his  heat  engenders,  make  sub 
sistence  easy.  On  the  other  side,  the  desert,  the 
simoon,  the  mirage,  the  lion  and  the  plague  endan 
ger  it,  and  life  hangs  on  the  contingency  of  a  skin 
of  water  more  or  less.  The  very  geography  of  old 
Persia  showed  these  contrasts.  "  My  father's  em 
pire,  "  said  Cyrus  to  Xenophon,  "  is  so  large  that 
people  perish  with  cold  at  one  extremity  whilst  they 
are  suffocated  with  heat  at  the  other.  "  The  tem 
perament  of  the  people  agrees  with  this  life  in  ex 
tremes.  Religion  and  poetry  are  all  their  civiliza 
tion.  The  religion  teaches  an  inexorable  Destiny. 
It  distinguishes  only  two  days  in  each  man's  his 
tory,  —  his  birthday,  called  the  Day  of  the  Lot, 


PERSIAN  POETRY.  227 

• 

and  the  Day  of  Judgment.  Courage  and  abso 
lute  submission  to  what  is  appointed  him  are  his 
virtues. 

The  favor  of  the  climate,  making  subsistence 
easy  arid  encouraging  an  outdoor  life,  allows  to  the 
Eastern  nations  a  highly  intellectual  organization, 
—  leaving  out  of  view,  at  present,  the  genius  of  the 
Hindoos  (more  Oriental  in  every  sense),  whom  no 
people  have  surpassed  in  the  grandeur  of  their 
ethical  statement.  The  Persians  and  the  Arabs, 
with  great  leisure  and  few  books,  are  exquisitely 
sensible  to  the  pleasures  of  poetry.  Layard  has 
given  some  details  of  the  effect  which  the  improv- 
visatori  produced  on  the  children  of  the  desert. 
"  When  the  bard  improvised  an  amatory  ditty,  the 
young  chief's  excitement  was  almost  beyond  control. 
The  other  Bedouins  were  scarcely  less  moved  by 
these  rude  measures,  which  have  the  same  kind  of 
effect  on  the  wild  tribes  of  the  Persian  mountains. 
Such  verses,  chanted  by  their  self-taught  poets  or 
by  the  girls  of  their  encampment,  will  drive  war 
riors  to  the  combat,  fearless  of  death,  or  prove  an 
ample  reward  on  their  return  from  the  dangers  of 
the  ghazon,  or  the  fight.  The  excitement  they 
produce  exceeds  that  of  the  grape.  He  who  would 
understand  the  influence  of  the  Homeric  ballads  in 
the  heroic  ages  should  witness  the  effect  which 
similar  compositions  have  upon  the  wild  nomads  of 


228  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

the  East. "  Elsewhere  he  adds,  "  Poetry  and  flow 
ers  are  the  wine  and  spirits  of  the  Arab ;  a  couplet 
is  equal  to  a  bottle,  and  a  rose  to  a  dram,  without 
the  evil  effect  of  either.  " 

The  Persian  poetry  rests  on  a  mythology  whose 
few  legends  are  connected  with  the  Jewish  history 
and  the  anterior  traditions  of  the  Pentateuch.  The 
principal  figure  in  the  allusions  of  Eastern  poetry 
is  Solomon.  Solomon  had  three  talismans :  first, 
the  signet-ring  by  which  he  commanded  the  spirits, 
on  the  stone  of  which  was  engraven  the  name  of 
God ;  second,  the  glass  in  which  he  saw  the  secrets 
of  his  enemies  and  the  causes  of  all  things,  figured : 
the  third,  the  east-wind,  which  was  his  horse.  His 
counsellor  was  Simorg,  king  of  birds,  the  all-wise 
fowl  who  had  lived  ever  since  the  beginning  of  the 
world,  and  now  lives  alone  on  the  highest  summit 
of  Mount  Kaf.  No  fowler  has  taken  him,  and  none 
now  living  has  seen  him.  By  him  Solomon  was 
taught  the  language  of  birds,  so  that  he  heard 
secrets  whenever  he  went  into  his  gardens.  When 
Solomon  travelled,  his  throne  was  placed  on  a  car 
pet  of  green  silk,  of  a  length  and  breadth  sufficient 
for  all  his  army  to  stand  upon,  —  men  placing 
themselves  on.  his  right  hand,  and  the  spirits  on  his 
left.  When  all  were  in  order,  the  east-wind,  at  his 
command,  took  up  the  carpet  and  transported  it 
with  all  that  were  upon  it,  whither  he  pleased,  — 


PERSTAN  POETRY.  229 

the  army  of  birds  at  the  same  time  flying  overhead 
and  forming  a  canopy  to  shade  them  from  the  sun. 
It  is  related  that  when  the  Queen  of  Sheba  came 
to  visit  Solomon,  he  had  built,  against  her  arrival,  a 
palace,  of  which  the  floor  or  pavement  was  of  glass, 
laid  over  running  water,  in  which  fish  were  swim 
ming.  The  Queen  of  Sheba  was  deceived  thereby, 
and  raised  her  robes,  thinking  she  was  to  pass 
through  the  water.  On  the  occasion  of  Solomon's 
marriage,  all  the  beasts,  laden  with  presents,  ap 
peared  before  his  throne.  Behind  them  all  came 
the  ant,  with  a  blade  of  grass :  Solomon  did  not  de 
spise  the  gift  of  the  ant.  Asaph,  the  vizier,  at  a 
certain  time,  lost  the  seal  of  Solomon,  which  one  of 
the  Dews  or  evil  spirits  found,  and,  governing  in 
the  name  of  Solomon,  deceived  the  people. 

Firdusi,  the  Persian  Homer,  has  written  in  the 
Shah  Nameh  the  annals  of  the  fabulous  and  heroic 
kings  of  the  country :  of  Karun  ( the  Persian  Croe 
sus),  the  immeasurably  rich  gold-maker,  who,  with 
all  his  treasures,  lies  buried  not  far  from  the  Pyra 
mids,  in  the  sea  which  bears  his  name  ;  of  Jamschid, 
the  binder  of  demons,  whose  reign  lasted  seven 
hundred  years ;  of  Kai  Kaus,  in  whose  palace,  built 
by  demons  on  Alburz,  gold  and  silver  and  precious 
stones  were  used  so  lavishly  that  in  the  brilliancy 
produced  by  their  combined  effect,  night  and  day 
appeared  the  same  ;  of  Af  rasiyab,  strong  as  an  ele- 


230  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

pliant,  whose  shadow  extended  for  miles,  whose 
heart  was  bounteous  as  the  ocean  and  his  hands 
like  the  clouds  when  rain  falls  to  gladden  the  earth. 
The  crocodile  in  the  rolling  stream  had  110  safety 
from  Afrasiyab.  Yet  when  he  came  to  fight  against 
the  generals  of  Kaus,  he  was  but  an  insect  in  the 
grasp  of  Rustem,  who  seized  him  by  the  girdle  and 
dragged  him  from  his  horse.  Rustem  felt  such 
anger  at  the  arrogance  of  the  King  of  Mazinderan 
that  every  hair  on  his  body  started  up  like  a  spear. 
The  gripe  of  his  hand  cracked  the  sinews  of  an 
enemy. 

These  legends,  with  Chiser,  the  fountain  of  life, 
Tuba,  the  tree  of  life ;  the  romances  of  the  loves  of 
Leila  and  Medschnun,  of  Chosru  and  Schirin,  and 
those  of  the  nightingale  for  the  rose ;  pearl-diving, 
and  the  virtues  of  gems ;  the  cohol,  a  cosmetic  by 
which  pearls  and  eyebrows  are  indelibly  stained 
black,  the  bladder  in  which  musk  is  brought,  the 
down  of  the  lip,  the  mole  on  the  cheek,  the  eyelash  ; 
lilies,  roses,  tulips,  and  jasmines,  —  make  the  staple 
imagery  of  Persian  odes. 

The  Persians  have  epics  and  tales,  but,  for  the 
most  part,  they  affect  short  poems  and  epigrams. 
Gnomic  verses,  rules  of  life  conveyed  in  a  lively 
image,  especially  in  an  image  addressed  to  the  eye 
and  contained  in  a  single  stanza,  were  always  cur 
rent  in  the  East ;  and  if  the  poem  is  long,  it  is  only 


PERSIAN  POETRY.  231 

a  string  of  unconnected  verses.  They  use  an  incon- 
secutiveness  quite  alarming  to  Western  logic,  and 
the  connection  between  the  stanzas  of  their  longer 
odes  is  much  like  that  between  the  refrain  of  our 
old  English  ballads,  — 

"  The  sun  slimes  fair  on  Carlisle  wall," 
or 

"  The  rain  it  raiueth  every  day,"  — 

and  the  main  story. 

Take,  as  specimens  of  these  gnomic  verses,  the 
following :  — 

"  The  secret  that  should  not  be  blown 
Not  one  of  thy  nation  must  know  ; 
You  may  padlock  the  gate  of  a  town, 
But  never  the  mouth  of  a  foe  :  " 

or  this  of  Omar  Khayyam:  — 

"  On  earth's  wide  thoroughfares  below 
Two  only  men  contented  go  : 
Who  knows  what 's  right  and  what 's  forbid, 
And  he  from  whom  is  knowledge  hid." 

Here   is   a   poem   on  a  melon,   by  Adsched  of 
Meru  :  — 

"  Color,  taste,  and  smell,  smaragdus,  sugar,  and  musk, 
Amber  for  the  tongue,  for  the  eye  a  picture  rare, 
If  you  cut  the  fruit  in  slices,  every  slice  a  crescent  fair, 
If  you  leave  it  whole,  the  full  harvest  moon  is  there." 

Hafiz  is  the  prince  of  Persian  poets,  and  in  his 
extraordinary  gifts  adds  to  some  of  the  attributes 


232  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

of  Pindar,  Anacreon,  Horace  and  Burns,  the  insight 
of  a  mystic,  that  sometimes  affords  a  deeper  glance 
at  Nature  than  belongs  to  either  of  these  bards. 
He  accosts  all  topics  with  an  easy  audacity.  "  He 
only,"  he  says, "is  fit  for  company,  who  knows  how 
to  prize  earthly  happiness  at  the  value  of  a  night 
cap.  Our  father  Adam  sold  Paradise  for  two  ker 
nels  of  wheat ;  then  blame  me  not,  if  I  hold  it  dear 
at  one  grapestone. "  He  says  to  the  Shah,  "  Thou 
who  rulest  after  words  and  thoughts  which  no  ear 
has  heard  and  no  mind  has  thought,  abide  firm  un 
til  thy  young  destiny  tears  off  his  blue  coat  from  the 
old  gray  beard  of  the  sky."  He  says,  — 

*'  I  batter  the  wheel  of  heaven 

When  it  rolls  not  rightly  by; 
I  am  not  one  of  the  snivellers 
Who  fall  thereon  and  die." 

The  rapidity  of  his  turns  is  always  surprising 
us:  — 

"  See  how  the  roses  burn  ! 

Bring  wine  to  quench  the  fire  ! 
Alas  !  the  flames  come  up  with  us, 
We  perish  with  desire." 

After  the  manner  of  his  nation,  he  abounds  in 
pregnant  sentences  which  might  be  engraved  on  a 
sword-blade  and  almost  on  a  ring. 

"  In  honor  dies  he  to  whom  the  great  seems  ever 
wonderful." 


PERSIAN  POETRY.  233 

"  Here  is  the  sum,  that,  when  one  door  opens,  another 
shuts." 

"  On  every  side  is  an  ambush  laid  by  the  robber- 
troops  of  circumstance ;  hence  it  is  that  the  horseman  of 
life  urges  on  his  courser  at  headlong  speed." 

"  The  earth  is  a  host  who  murders  his  guests.  " 

"  Good  is  what  goes  on  the  road  of  Nature.  On  the 
straight  way  the  traveller  never  misses." 

"  Alas  !  till  now  I  had  not  known 
My  guide  and  Fortune's  guide  are  one." 

"  The  understanding's  copper  coin 
Counts  not  with  the  gold  of  love." 

"  'Tis  writ  on  Paradise's  gate, 
'  Woe  to  the  dupe  that  yields  to  Fate  ! '  " 

"  The  world  is  a  bride  superbly  dressed  ;  — 
Who  weds  her  for  dowry  must  pay  his  soul." 

"  Loose  the  knots  of  the  heart  ;  never  think  on  thy  fate  : 
No  Euclid  has  yet  disentangled  that  snarl." 

"  There  resides  in  the  grieving 

A  poison  to  kill  ; 
Beware  to  go  near  them 
'T  is  pestilent  still." 

Harems  and  wineshops  only  give  him  a  new 
ground  of  observation,  whence  to  draw  sometimes  a 
deeper  moral  than  regulated  sober  life  affords,  and 
this  is  foreseen  :  — 


234  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

"  I  will  be  drunk  and  down  with  wine  ; 
Treasures  we  find  in  a  ruined  house." 

Riot,  he  thinks,  can  snatch  from  the  deeply  hidden 
lot  tlie  veil  that  covers  it :  — 

"  To  bo  wise  the  dull  brain  so  earnestly  throbs, 
Bring  bands  of  wine  for  the  stupid  head." 

"  The  Builder  of  heaven 

Hath  sundered  the  earth, 
So  that  no  footway 
Leads  out  of  it  forth. 

"  On  turnpikes  of  wonder 

Wine  leads  the  mind  forth, 
Straight,  sidewise,  and  upward, 
West,  southward,  and  north. 

"  Stands  the  vault  adamantine 

Until  the  Doomsday  ; 
The  wine-cup  shall  ferry 
Thee  o'er  it  away." 

That  hardihood  and  self-equality  of  every  sound 
nature,  which  result  from  the  feeling  that  the  spirit 
in  him  is  entire  and  as  good  as  the  world,  which  en 
title  the  poet  to  speak  with  authority,  and  make 
him  an  object  of  interest  and  his  every  phrase  and 
syllable  significant,  are  in  Hafiz,  and  abundantly 
fortify  and  ennoble  his  tone. 

His  was  the  fluent  mind  in  which  every  thought 
and  feeling  came  readily  to  the  lips.  "  Loose  the 
knots  of  the  heart,"  he  says.  We  absorb  elements 


PERSIAN  POETRY.  235 

enough,  but  have  not  leaves  and  lungs  for  healthy 
perspiration  and  growth.  An  air  of  sterility,  of  in 
competence  to  their  proper  aims,  belongs  to  many 
who  have  both  experience  and  wisdom.  But  a 
large  utterance,  a  river  that  makes  its  own  shores, 
quick  perception  and  corresponding  expression,  a 
constitution  to  which  every  morrow  is  a  new  day, 
which  is  equal  to  the  needs  of  life,  at  once  tender 
and  bold,  with  great  arteries,  —  this  generosity  of 
ebb  and  flow  satisfies,  and  we  should  be  willing  to 
die  when  our  time  comes,  having  had  our  swing  and 
gratification.  The  difference  is  not  so  much  in  the 
quality  of  men's  thoughts  as  in  the  power  of  utter 
ing  them.  What  is  pent  and  smouldered  in  the 
dumb  actor,  is  not  pent  in  the  poet,  but  passes  over 
into  new  form,  at  once  relief  and  creation. 

The  other  merit  of  Hafiz  is  his  intellectual  lib 
erty,  which  is  a  certificate  of  profound  thought. 
We  accept  the  religions  and  politics  into  which  we 
fall,  and  it  is  only  a  few  delicate  spirits  who  are 
sufficient  to  see  that  the  whole  web  of  convention  is 
the  imbecility  of  those  whom  it  entangles,  —  that 
the  mind  suffers  no  religion  and  no  empire  but  its 
own.  It  indicates  this  respect  to  absolute  truth  by 
the  use  it  makes  of  the  symbols  that  are  most  sta 
ble  and  reverend,  and  therefore  is  always  provok 
ing  the  accusation  of  irreligion. 

Hypocrisy  is  the  perpetual  butt  of  his  arrows : 
"  Let  us  draw  the  cowl  through  the  brook  of  wine." 


236  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

He  tells  his  mistress  that  not  the  dervish,  or  the 
monk,  but  the  lover,  has  in  his  heart  the  spirit 
which  makes  the  ascetic  and  the  saint ;  and  cer 
tainly  not  their  cowls  and  mummeries  but  her 
glances  can  impart  to  him  the  fire  and  virtue  need 
ful  for  such  self-denial.  Wrong  shall  not  be  wrong 
to  Hafiz  for  the  name's  sake.  A  law  or  statute  is  to 
him  what  a  fence  is  to  a  nimble  school-boy,  —  a 
temptation  for  a  jump.  "  We  would  do  nothing 
but  good,  else  would  shame  come  to  us  on  the  day 
when  the  soul  must  hie  hence ;  and  should  they  then 
deny  us  Paradise,  the  ITouris  themselves  would  for 
sake  that  and  come  out  to  us." 

His  complete  intellectual  emancipation  he  com 
municates  to  the  reader.  There  is  no  example  of 
such  facility  of  allusion,  such  use  of  all  materials. 
Nothing  is  too  high,  nothing  too  low  for  his  occa 
sion.  He  fears  nothing,  he  stops  for  nothing.  Love 
is  a  leveller,  and  Allah  becomes  a  groom,  and 
heaven  a  closet,  in  his  daring  hymns  to  his  mistress 
or  to  his  cupbearer.  This  boundless  charter  is  the 
right  of  genius. 

We  do  not  wish  to  strew  sugar  on  bottled  spiders, 
or  try  to  make  mystical  divinity  out  of  the  Song  of 
Solomon,  much  less  out  of  the  erotic  and  baccha 
nalian  songs  of  Hafiz.  Hafiz  himself  is  determined 
to  defy  all  such  hypocritical  interpretation,  and 
tears  off  his  turban  and  throws  it  at  the  head  of  the 


PERSIAN  POETRY.  237 

meddling  dervish,  and  throws  his  glass  after  the 
turban.  But  the  love  or  the  wine  of  Hafiz  is  not  to 
be  confounded  with  vulgar  debauch.  It  is  the  spirit 
in  which  the  song  is  written  that  imports,  and  not 
the  topics.  Hafiz  praises  wine,  roses,  maidens,  boys, 
birds,  mornings,  and  music,  to  give  vent  to  his  im 
mense  hilarity  and  sympathy  with  every  form  of 
beauty  and  joy ;  and  lays  the  emphasis  on  these  to 
mark  his  scorn  of  sanctimony  and  base  prudence. 
These  are  the  natural  topics  and  language  of  his 
wit  and  preception.  But  it  is  the  play  of  wit  and 
the  joy  of  song  that  he  loves ;  and  if  you  mistake 
him  for  a  low  rioter,  he  turns  short '  011  you  with 
verses  which  express  the  poverty  of  sensual  joys, 
and  to  ejaculate  with  equal  fire  the  most  unpal 
atable  affirmations  of  heroic  sentiment  and  con 
tempt  for  the  world.  Sometimes  it  is  a  glance 
from  the  height  of  thought,  as  thus :  — 

"  Bring  wine  ;  for  in  the  audience-hall  of  the  soul's 
independence,  what  is  sentinel  or  Sultan  ?  what  is  the 
wise  man  or  the  intoxicated  ?  " 

And  sometimes  his  feast,  feasters,  and  world  are 
only  one  pebble  more  in  the  eternal  vortex  and  rev 
olution  of  Fate :  — 

"  I  am  :  what  I  am 
My  dust  will  be  again." 

A  saint  might  lend  an  ear  to  the  riotous  fun  of  Fal- 


238  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

staff  ;  for  it  is  not  created  to  excite  the  animal 
appetites,  but  to  vent  the  joy  of  a  supernal  intelli 
gence.  ,In  all  poetry,  Pindar's  rule  holds,  — trwe- 
Tots  <£cW,i  t  speaks  to  the  intelligent  ;  and  Hafiz 
is  a  poet  for  poets,  whether  he  write,  as  sometimes, 
with  a  parrot's,  or,  as  at  other  times,  with  an  eagle's 
quill. 

Every  song  of  Hafiz  affords  new  proof  of  the  un 
importance  of  your  subject  to  success,  provided  only 
the  treatment  be  cordial.  In  general  what  is  more 
tedious  than  dedications  or  panegyrics  addressed  to 
grandees  ?  Yet  in  the  "  Divan  "  you  would  not 
skip  them,  since  his  muse  seldom  supports  him  bet 
ter : 

"  What  lovelier  forms  tilings  wear, 
Now  that  the  Shah  comes  back  ! " 

And  again :  — 

"  Thy  foes  to  hunt,  thy  enviers  to  strike  down, 
Poises  Arcturus  aloft  morning1  and  evening  his  spear." 

It  is  told  of  Hafiz,  that,  when  he  had  written  a 
compliment  to  a  handsome  youth,  — 

"  Take  my  heart  in  thy  hand,  O  beautiful  boy  of  Shiraz  ! 
I  would  give  for  the  mole  on  thy  cheek  Samarcand  and  Bu- 
chara  !  "  — 

the  verses  came  to  the  ears  of  Timour  in  his  pal 
ace.  Timour  taxed  Hafiz  with  treating  disrespect 
fully  his  two  cities,  to  raise  and  adorn  which  he 
had  conquered  nations.  Hafiz  replied,  "  Alas,  my 


PERSIAN  POETRY.  239 

lord,  if  I  had  not  been  so  prodigal,  I  had  not  been 
so  poor !  " 

The  Persians  had  a  mode  of  establishing  copy 
right  the  most  secure  of  any  contrivance  with 
which  we  are  acquainted.  The  law  of  the  ghaselle, 
or  shorter  ode,  requires  that  the  poet  insert  his 
name  in  the  last  stanza.  Almost  every  one  of  sev 
eral  hundreds  of  poems  of  Hafiz  contains  his  name 
thus  interwoven  more  or  less  closely  with  the  sub 
ject  of  the  piece.  It  is  itself  a  test  of  skill,  as  this 
self -naming  is  not  quite  easy.  We  remember  but 
two  or  three  examples  in  English  poetry :  that  of 
Chaucer,  in  the  "  House  of  Fame  ;  "  Jonson's  epi 
taph  on  his  son,  — 

"  Ben  Jonson  his  best  piece  of  poetry  ; " 

and  Cowley's,  — 

"  The  melancholy  Cowley  lay." 

But  it  is  easy  to  Hafiz.  It  gives  him  the  oppor 
tunity  of  the  most  playful  self-assertion,  always 
gracefully,  sometimes  almost-  in  the  fun  of  Falstaff, 
sometimes  with  feminine  delicacy.  He  tells  us, 
u  The  angels  in  heaven  were  lately  learning  his  last 
pieces."  He  says,  "  The  fishes  shed  their  pearls, 
out  of  desire  and  longing  as  soon  as  the  ship  of 
Hafiz  swims  the  deep." 

"  Out  of  the  East,  and  out  of  the  West,  no  man  understands 

me  ; 
O,  the  happier  I,  who  confide  to  none  but  the  wind  ! 


240  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

This  morning  heard  I  how  the  lyre  of  the  stars  resounded, 
1  Sweeter  tones  have  we  heard  from  Ilafiz  ! '  " 

Again,  — 

"  I  heard  the  harp  of  the  planet  Venus,  and  it  said 
in  the  early  morning,  '  I  am  the  disciple  of  the  sweet- 
voiced  Hafiz  !  '  " 

And  again, — 

"  When  Hafiz  sings,  the  angels  hearken,  and  Anaitis, 
the  leader  of  the  starry  host,  calls  even  the  Messiah  in 
heaven  out  to  the  dance." 

"  No  one  has  unvailed  thoughts  like  Hafiz,  since  the 
locks  of  the  World-bride  were  first  curled." 

"  Only  lie  despises  the  verse  of  Hafiz  who  is  not  him 
self  by  nature  noble." 

But  we  must  try  to  give  some  of  these  poetic 
flourishes  the  metrical  form  which  they  seem  to  re 
quire  :  — 

"  Fit  for  the  Pleiads'  azure  chord 
The  songs  I  sung,  the  pearls  I  bored." 

Another :  — 

"  I  have  no  hoarded  treasure, 
Yet  have  I  rich  content  ; 
The  first  from  Allah  to  the  Shah, 
The  last  to  Hafiz  went." 

Another :  — 

"  High  heart,  O  Hafiz  !  though  not  thine 
Fine  gold  and  silver  ore  ; 


PERSIAN  POETRY.  241 

More  worth  to  tliee  the  gift  of  song, 
And  the  clear  insight  more." 

Again  :  — 

"  O  Hafiz  !  speak  not  of  thy  need  ; 

Are  not  these  verses  thine  ? 
Then  all  the  poets  are  agreed, 
No  man  can  less  repine." 

He  asserts  his  dignity  as  bard  and  inspired  man 
of  his  people.  To  the  vizier  returning  from  Mecca 
he  says,  — 

"  Boast  not  rashly,  prince  of  pilgrims,  of  thy  fortune. 
Thou  hast  indeed  seen  the  temple  ;  but  I,  the  Lord  of 
the  temple.  Nor  has  any  man  inhaled  from  the  musk- 
bladder  of  the  merchant  or  from  the  musky  morning- 
wind  that  sweet  air  which  I  am  permitted  to  breathe 
every  hour  of  the  day." 

And  with  still  more  vigor  in  the  following  lines  : — 

"  Oft  have  I  said,  I  say  it  once  more, 
I,  a  wanderer,  do  not  stray  from  myself. 
I  am  a  kind  of  parrot  ;  the  mirror  is  holden  to  me  ; 
What  the  Eternal  says,  I  stammering  say  again. 
Give  me  what  you  will;   I  eat  thistles  as  roses, 
And  according  to  my  food  I  grow  and  I  give. 
Scorn  me  not,  but  know  I  have  the  pearl, 
And  am  only  seeking  one  to  receive  it." 

And  his  claim  has  been  admitted  from  the  first. 
The  muleteers  and  camel-drivers,  on  their  way 
through  the  desert,  sing  snatches  of  his  songs,  not 
so  much  for  the  thought  as  for  their  joyful  temper 

VOL.    VIII.  16 


242  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

and  tone  ;  and  the  cultivated  Persians  know  his 
poems  by  heart.  Yet  Hafiz  does  not  appear  to 
have  set  any  great  value  on  his  songs,  since  his 
scholars  collected  them  for  the  first  time  after  his 
death. 

In  the  following  poem  the  soul  is  figured  as  the 
Phoenix  alighting  on  Tuba,  the  Tree  of  Life  :  — 

"  My  phoenix  long  ago  secured 

His  nest  in  the  sky-vault's  cope  ; 
In  the  body's  cage  immured, 
He  was  weary  of  life's  hope. 

"  Round  and  round  this  heap  of  ashes 

Now  flies  the  bird  amain, 
But  in  that  odorous  niche  of  heaven 
**  Nestles  the  bird  again. 

"  Once  flies  he  upward,  he  will  perch 

On  Tuba's  golden  bough  ; 
His  home  is  on  that  fruited  arch 
Which  cools  the  blest  below. 

"  If  over  this  world  of  ours 

His  wings  my  phoenix  spread, 
How  gracious  falls  on  land  and  sea 
The  soul-refreshing  shade  ! 

"  Either  world  inhabits  he, 

Sees  oft  below  him  planets  roll ; 
His  body  is  all  of  air  compact, 
Of  Allah's  love  his  soul." 

Here  is  an  ode  which  is  said   to  be  a  favorite 
with  all  educated  Persians  :  — 


PERSIAN  POETRY.  243 

"  Come  !  —  the  palace  of  heaven  rests  on  aery  pillars,  — 
Come,  and  bring  me  wine  ;  our  days  are  wind. 
I  declare  myself  the  slave  of  that  masculine  soul 
Which  ties  and  alliance  on  earth  once  forever  renounces. 
Told  I  thee  yester-mom  how  the  Iris  of  heaven 
Brought  to  me  in  my  cup  a  gospel  of  joy  ? 

0  high-flying  falcon  !  the  Tree  of  Life  is  thy  perch  ; 
This  nook  of  grief  fits  thee  ill  for  a  nest. 

Hearken  !  they  call  to  thee  down  from  the  ramparts  of 
heaven ; 

1  cannot  divine  what  holds  thee  here  in  a  net. 

I,  too,  have  a  counsel  for  thee  ;  O,  mark  it  and  keep  it, 

Since  I  received  the  same  from  the  Master  above  : 

Seek  not  for  faith  or  for  truth  in  a  world  of  light-minded 
girls  ; 

A  thousand  suitors  reckons  this  dangerous  bride. 

Cumber  thee  not  for  the  world,  and  this  my  precept  forget 
not, 

'T  is  but  a  toy  that  a  vagabond  sweetheart  has  left  us. 

Accept  whatever  befalls  ;  uncover  thy  brow  from  thy  locks ; 

Never  to  me  nor  to  thee  was  option  imparted  ; 

Neither  endurance  nor  truth  belongs  to  the  laugh  of  the 
rose. 

The  loving  nightingale  mourns  ;  —  cause  enow  for  mourn 
ing  ;  — 

Why  envies  the  bird  the  streaming  verses  of  Hafiz  ? 

Know  that  a  god  bestowed  on  him  eloquent  speech." 

The  cedar,  the  cypress,  the  palm,  the  olive  and 
fig- tree,  the  birds  that  inhabit  them,  and  the  gar 
den  flowers,  are  never  wanting  in  these  musky 
verses,  and  are  always  named  with  effect.  "  The 
willows,"  he  says,  "  bow  themselves  to  every  wind 


244  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

out  of  shame  for  their  unfruitfulness."     We  may 
open  anywhere  on  a  floral  catalogue. 

"  By  breath  of  beds  of  roses  drawn, 

I  found  the  grove  in  the  morning  pure, 
In  the  concert  of  the  nightingales 
My  drunken  brain  to  cure. 

"  With  unrelated  glance 

I  looked  the  rose  in  the  eye  : 

The  rose  in  the  hour  of  gloaming 

Flamed  like  a  lamp  hard-by. 

"  She  was  of  her  beauty  proud, 
And  prouder  of  her  youth, 
The  while  unto  her  flaming  heart 
The  bulbul  gave  his  truth. 

"  The  sweet  narcissus  closed 

Its  eye,  with  passion  pressed  ; 
The  tulips  out  of  envy  burned 
Moles  in  their  scarlet  breast. 

"  The  lilies  white  prolonged 

Their  sworded  tongue  to  the  smell ; 
The  clustering  anemones 
Their  pretty  secrets  tell." 

Presently  we  have,  — 

"  All  day  the  rain 
Bathed  the  dark  hyacinths  in  vain, 
The  flood  may  pour  from  morn  till  night 
Nor  wash  the  pretty  Indians  white." 

And  so  onward,  through  many  a  page. 


PERSIAN  POETRY. 

This  picture  of  the  first  days  of  Spring, 
Enweri,  seems  to  belong  to  Hafiz  :  — 

"  O'er  the  garden  water  goes  the  wind  alone 

To  rasp  and  to  polish  the  cheek  of  the  wave  ; 
The  fire  is  quenched  on  the  dear  hearthstone, 
But  it  burns  again  on  the  tulips  brave." 

Friendship  is  a  favorite  topic  of  the  Eastern 
poets,  and  they  have  matched  on  this  head  the  ab 
soluteness  of  Montaigne. 

Hafiz  says,  — 

"  Thou  learnest  no  secret  until  thou  knowest  friend 
ship,  since  to  the  unsound  no  heavenly  knowledge  en 
ters." 

Ibn  Jeniin  writes  thus :  — 

"  Whilst  I  disdain  the  populace, 
I  find  no  peer  in  higher  place. 
Friend  is  a  word  of  royal  tone, 
Friend  is  a  poem  all  alone. 
Wisdom  is  like  the  elephant, 
Lofty  and  rare  inhabitant : 
He  dwells  in  deserts  or  in  courts  ; 
With  hucksters  he  has  no  resorts." 

Jam!  says,  — 

"  A  friend  is  he,  who,  hunted  as  a  foe, 

So  much  the  kindlier  shows  him  than  before  ; 
Throw  stones  at  him,  or  ruder  javelins  throw, 
He  builds  with  stone  and  steel  a  firmer  floor." 


246  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

Of  the  amatory  poetry  of  Hafiz  we  must  be  very 
sparing  in  our  citations,  though  it  forms  the  staple 
of  the  "  Divan."  He  has  run  through  the  whole 
gamut  of  passion,  —  from  the  sacred  to  the  bor 
ders,  and  over  the  borders,  of  the  profane.  The 
same  confusion  of  high  and  low,  the  celerity  of 
flight  and  allusion  which  our  colder  muses  forbid, 
is  habitual  to  him.  From  the  plain  text,  — 

"  The  chemist  of  love 

Will  this  perishing  mould, 
Were  it  made  out  of  mire, 
Transmute  into  gold," — 

he  proceeds  to  the  celebration  of  his  passion ;  and 
nothing  in  his  religious  or  in  his  scientific  tradi 
tions  is  too  sacred  or  too  remote  to  afford  a  token 
of  his  mistress.  The  Moon  thought  she  knew  her 
own  orbit  well  enough ;  but  when  she  saw  the  curve 
on  Zuleika's  cheek,  she  was  at  a  loss  :  — 

,    '  "  And  since  round  lines  are  drawn 

My  darling's  lips  about, 
The  very  Moon  looks  puzzled  on, 

And  hesitates  in  doubt 
If  the  sweet  curve  that  rounds  thy  mouth 
Be  not  her  true  way  to  the  South." 

His  ingenuity  never  sleeps :  — 

"  Ah,  could  I  hide  me  in  my  song, 
To  kiss  thy  lips  from  which  it  flows  !  " 

and  plays  in  a  thousand  pretty  courtesies  :  — 


PERSIAN  POETRY.  247 

"  Fair  fall  thy  soft  heart  ! 

A  good  work  wilt  thou  do  ? 
O,  pray  for  the  dead 

Whom  thine  eyelashes  slew  !  " 

And  what  a  nest  has  he  found  for  his  bonny  bird 
to  take  up  her  abode  in !  — 

"  They  strew  in  the  path  of  kings  and  czars 

Jewels  and  gems  of  price  : 
But  for  thy  head  I  will  pluck  down  stars, 
And  pave  thy  way  with  eyes. 

"  I  have  sought  for  thee  a  costlier  dome 

Than  Mahmoud's  palace  high, 
And  thou,  returning,  find  thy  home 
In  the  apple  of  Love's  eye." 

Then  we  have  all  degrees  of  passionate  abandon 
ment  :  — 

"  I  know  this  perilous  love-lane 

No  whither  the  traveller  leads, 
Yet  my  fancy  the  sweet  scent  of 
Thy  tangled  tresses  feeds. 

"  In  the  midnight  of  thy  locks, 

I  renounce  the  day  ; 
In  the  ring  of  thy  rose-lips, 
My  heart  forgets  to  pray." 

And  sometimes  his  love  rises  to  a  religious  senti 
ment  :  — 

"  Plunge  in  yon  angry  waves, 

Renouncing  doubt  and  care  ; 
The  flowing  of  the  seven  broad  seas 
Shall  never  wet  thy  hair. 


248  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

"  Is  Allah's  face  on  tliee 

Bending  with  love  benign, 
And  thou  not  less  on  Allah's  eye 
O  fairest !  turuest  thine." 

We  add  to  these  fragments  of  Hafiz  a  few  speci 
mens  from  other  poets. 

NISAMI. 

"  While  roses  bloomed  along  the  plain, 
The  nightingale  to  the  falcon  said, 
*  Why,  of  all  birds,  must  thou  be  dumb  ? 
With  closed  mouth  thou  utterest, 
Though  dying,  no  last  word  to  man. 
Yet  sitt'st  thou  on  the  hand  of  princes, 
And  feedest  on  the  grouse's  breast, 
Whilst  I,  who  hundred  thousand  jewels 
Squander  in  a  single  tone, 
Lo  !  I  feed  myself  with  worms, 
And  niy  dwelling  is  the  thorn. '  — 
The  falcon  answered,  '  Be  all  ear  : 
I,  experienced  in  affairs, 
See  fifty  things,  say  never  one  ; 
But  thee  the  people  prizes  not, 
Who,  doing  nothing,  say'st  a  thousand. 
To  me,  appointed  to  the  chase, 
The  king's  hand  gives  the  grouse's  breast  ; 
Whilst  a  chatterer  like  thee 
Must  gnaw  worms  in  the  thorn.     Farewell  ! ' ' 

The  following  passages  exhibit  the  strong  ten 
dency  of  the  Persian  poets  to  contemplative  and 
religious  poetry  and  to  allegory. 


PERSIAN  POETRY.  249 

ENWERI. 

BODY    AND    SOUL. 

"  A  painter  in  China  once  painted  a  hall  ;  — 
Such  a  web  never  hung  on  an  emperor's  wall  ;  — 
One  half  from  his  brush  with  rich  colors  did  run, 
The  other  he  touched  with  a  beam  of  the  sun  ; 
So  that  all  which  delighted  the  eye  in  one  side, 
The  same,  point  for  point,  in  the  other  replied. 
In  thee,  friend,  that  Syrian  chamber  is  found  ; 
Thine  the  star-pointing-roof,  and  the  base  on  the  ground  : 
Is  one  half  depicted  with  colors  less  bright  ? 
Beware  that  the  counterpart  blazes  with  light  ! " 

IBN  JEMIN. 

"  I  read  on  the  porch  of  a  palace  bold 

In  a  purple  tablet  letters  cast,  — 
'  A  house  though  a  million  winters  old, 

A  house  of  earth  comes  down  at  last  ; 
Then  quarry  thy  stones  from  the  crystal  All, 
And  build  the  dome  that  shall  not  fall.'" 

"  What  need,"  cries  the  mystic  Feisi,  "of  palaces 
and  tapestry  ?  What  need  even  of  a  bed  ? 

"  The  eternal  Watcher,  who  doth  wake 

All  night  in  the  body's  earthen  chest, 
Will  of  thine  arms  a  pillow  make, 
And  a  bolster  of  thy  breast." 

Ferideddin  Attar  wrote  the  "  Bird  Conversa 
tions,"  a  mystical  tale,  in  which  the  birds,  coming 
together  to  choose  their  king,  resolve  on  a  pilgrim 
age  to  Mount  Kaf,  to  pay  their  homage  to  the 


250  PERSIAN  POETRY. 

Simorg.  From  this  poem,  written  five  hundred 
years  ago,  we  cite  the  following  passage,  as  a  proof 
of  the  identity  of  mysticism  in  all  periods.  The 
tone  is  quite  modern.  In  the  fable,  the  birds  were 
soon  weary  of  the  length  and  difficulties  of  the  way, 
and  at  last  almost  all  gave  out.  Three  only  perse 
vered,  and  arrived  before  the  throne  of  the  Simorg. 

"  The  bird-soul  was  ashamed  ; 
Their  body  was  quite  annihilated  ; 
They  had  cleaned  themselves  from  the  dust, 
And  were  by  the  light  ensouled. 
What  was,  and  was  not,  —  the  Past,  — 
Was  wiped  out  from  their  breast. 
The  sun  from  near-by  beamed 
Clearest  light  into  their  soul  ; 
The  resplendence  of  the  Simorg  beamed 
As  one  back  from  all  three. 
They  knew  not,  amazed,  if  they 
Were  either  this  or  that. 
They  saw  themselves  all  as  Simorg, 
Themselves  in  the  eternal  Simorg. 
When  to  the  Simorg  up  they  looked, 
They  beheld  him  among  themselves  ; 
And  when  they  looked  on  each  other, 
They  saw  themselves  in  the  Simorg. 
A  single  look  grouped  the  two  parties, 
The  Simorg  emerged,  the  Simorg  vanished, 
This  in  that  and  that  in  this, 
As  the  world  has  never  heard. 
So  remained  they,  sunk  in  wonder, 
Thoughtless  in  deepest  thinking, 


PERSIAN  POETRY.  251 

And  quite  unconscious  of  themselves. 

Speechless  prayed  they  to  the  Highest 

To  open  this  secret, 

And  to  unlock  Thou  and  We. 

There  came  an  answer  without  tongue.  — 

'  The  Highest  is  a  sun- mirror  ; 

Who  comes  to  Him  sees  himself  therein, 

Sees  body  and  soul,  and  soul  and  body  ; 

When  you  came  to  the  Simorg, 

Three  therein  appeared  to  you, 

And,  had  fifty  of  you  come, 

So  had  you  seen  yourselves  as  many. 

Him  has  none  of  us  yet  seen. 

Ants  see  not  the  Pleiades. 

Can  the  gnat  grasp  with  his  teeth 

The  body  of  the  elephant  ? 

What  you  see  is  He  not  ; 

What  you  hear  is  He  not. 

The  valleys  which  you  traverse, 
The  actions  which  you  perform, 

They  lie  under  our  treatment 

And  among  our  properties. 

You  as  three  birds  are  amazed, 

Impatient,  heartless,  confused  : 

Far  over  you  am  I  raised, 

Since  I  am  in  act  Simorg. 

Ye  blot  out  my  highest  being, 

That  ye  may  find  yourselves  on  my  throne  ; 

Forever  ye  blot  out  yourselves, 

As  shadows  in  the  sun.     Farewell ! '  " 


INSPIRATION. 


INSPIRATION. 


IT  was  "Watt  who  told  King  George  III.  that 
he  dealt  in  an  article  of  which  kings  were  said  to 
be  fond,  —  Power.  'T  is  certain  that  the  one  thing 
we  wish  to  know  is,  where  power  is  to  be  bought. 
But  we  want  a  finer  kind  than  that  of  commerce  ; 
and  every  reasonable  man  would  give  any  price  of 
house  and  land  and  future  provision,  for  condensa 
tion,  concentration,  and  the  recalling  at  will  of 
high  mental  energy.  Our  money  is  only  a  second 
best.  We  would  jump  to  buy  power  with  it,  that 
is,  intellectual  perception  moving  the  will.  That 
is  first  best.  But  we  don't  know  where  the  shop  is. 
If  Watt  knew,  he  forgot  to  tell  us  the  number  of 
the  street.  There  are  times  when  the  intellect  is  so 
active  that  everything  seems  to  run  to  meet  it.  Its 
supplies  are  found  without  much  thought  as  to  stud 
ies.  Knowledge  runs  to  the  man,  and  the  man  runs 
to  knowledge.  In  spring,  when  the  snow  melts, 
the  maple-trees  flow  with  sugar,  and  you  cannot 
get  tubs  fast  enough  ;  but  it  is  only  for  a  few  days. 
The  hunter  on  the  prairie,  at  the  right  season,  has 


256  INSPIRATION. 

no  need  of  choosing  his  ground  ;  east,  west,  by  the 
river,  by  the  timber,  he  is  everywhere  near  his 
game.  But  the  favorable  conditions  are  rather  the 
exception  than  the  rule. 

The  aboriginal  man,  in  geology  and  in  the  dim 
lights  of  Darwin's  microscope,  is  not  an  engaging 
figure.  We  are  very  glad  that  he  ate  his  fishes 
and  snails  and  marrow-bones  out  of  our  sight  and 
hearing,  and  that  his  doleful  experiences  were  got 
through  with  so  very  long  ago.  They  combed  his 
mane,  they  pared  his  nails,  cut  off  his  tail,  set  him 
on  end,  sent  him  to  school  and  made  him  pay  taxes, 
before  he  could  begin  to  write  his  sad  story  for  the 
compassion  or  the  repudiation  of  his  descendants, 
who  are  all  but  unanimous  to  disown  him.  We 
must  take  him  as  we  find  him,  —  pretty  well  on  in 
his  education,  and,  in  all  our  knowledge  of  him,  an 
interesting  creature,  with  a  will,  an  invention,  an 
imagination,  a  conscience  and  an  inextinguishable 
hope. 

The  Hunterian  law  of  arrested  development  is 
not  confined  to  vegetable  and  animal  structure,  but 
reaches  the  human  intellect  also.  In  the  savage 
man,  thought  is  infantile  ;  and,  in  the  civilized, 
unequal  and  ranging  up  and  down  a  long  scale. 
In  the  best  races  it  is  rare  and  imperfect.  In  happy 
moments  it  is  reinforced,  and  carries  out  what  were 
rude  suggestions  to  larger  scope  and  to  clear  and 


INSPIRATION.  257 

grand  conclusions.  The  poet  cannot  see  a  natural 
phenomenon  which  does  not  express  to  him  a  cor 
respondent  fact  in  his  mental  experience  ;  he  is 
made  aware  of  a  power  to  carry  on  and  complete 
the  metamorphosis  of  natural  into  spiritual  facts. 
Everything  which  we  hear  for  the  first  time  was 
expected  by  the  mind ;  the  newest  discovery  was 
expected.  In  the  mind  we  call  this  enlarged  power 
Inspiration.  I  believe  that  nothing  great  and  last 
ing  can  be  done  except  by  inspiration,  by  leaning 
on  the  secret  augury.  The  man's  insight  and  power 
are  interrupted  and  occasional ;  he  can  see  and  do 
this  or  that  cheap  task,  at  will,  but  it  steads  him 
not  beyond.  He  is  fain  to  make  the  ulterior  step 
by  mechanical  means.  It  cannot  so  be  done.  That 
ulterior  step  is  to  be  also  by  inspiration  ;  if  not 
through  him,  then  by  another  man.  Every  real 
step  is  by  what  a  poet  called  "  lyrical  glances,"  by 
lyrical  facility,  and  never  by  main  strength  and  ig 
norance.  Years  of  mechanic  toil  will  only  seem  to 
do  it ;  it  will  not  so  be  done. 

Inspiration  is  like  yeast.  'T  is  no  matter  in 
which  of  half  a  dozen  ways  you  procure  the  infec 
tion  ;  you  can  apply  one  or  the  other  equally  well 
to  your  purpose,  and  get  your  loaf  of  bread.  And 
every  earnest  workman,  in  whatever  kind,  kno\vs 
some  favorable  conditions  for  his  task.  When  I 
wish  to  write  on  any  topic,  't  is  of  no  consequence 

VOL.   VIII.  17 


258  INSPIRATION. 

what  kind  of  book  or  man  gives  me  a  hint  or  a  mo 
tion,  nor  how  far  off  that  is  from  my  topic. 

Power  is  the  first  good.  Rarey  can  tame  a  wild 
horse  ;  but  if  he  could  give  speed  to  a  dull  horse, 
were  not  that  better  ?  The  toper  finds,  without 
asking,  the  road  to  the  tavern,  but  the  poet  does 
not  know  the  pitcher  that  holds  his  nectar.  Every 
youth  should  know  the  way  to  prophecy  as  surely 
as  the  miller  understands  how  to  let  on  the  water 
or  the  engineer  the  steam.  A  rush  of  thoughts  is 
the  only  conceivable  prosperity  that  can  come  to 
us.  Fine  clothes,  equipages,  villa,  park,  social  con 
sideration,  cannot  cover  up  real  poverty  and  insig 
nificance,  from  my  own  eyes  or  from  others  like 
mine. 

Thoughts  let  us  into  realities.  Neither  miracle 
nor  magic  nor  any  religious  tradition,  not  the  im 
mortality  of  the  private  soul  is  incredible,  after  we 
have  experienced  an  insight,  a  thought.  I  think  it 
comes  to  some  men  but  once  in  their  life,  sometimes 
a  religious  impulse,  sometimes  an  intellectual  in 
sight.  But  what  we  want  is  consecutiveness.  'T  is 
with  us  a  flash  of  light,  then  a  long  darkness,  then 
a  flash  again.  The  separation  of  our  days  by  sleep 
almost  destroys  identity.  Could  we  but  turn  these 
fugitive  sparkles  into  an  astronomy  of  Copernican 
worlds !  With  most  men,  scarce  a  link  of  memory 
holds  yesterday  and  to-day  together.  Their  house 


INSPIRATION.  259 

and  trade  and  families  serve  them  as  ropes  to  give 
a  coarse  continuity.  But  they  have  forgotten  the 
thoughts  of  yesterday ;  they  say  to-day  what  occurs 
to  them,  and  something  else  to-morrow.  This  inse 
curity  of  possession,  this  quick  ebb  of  power,  —  as 
if  life  were  a  thunder-storm  wherein  you  can  see  by 
a  flash  the  horizon,  and  then  cannot  see  your  hand, 
—  tantalizes  us.  We  cannot  make  the  inspiration 
consecutive.  A  glimpse,  a  point  of  view  that  by 
its  brightness  excludes  the  purview  is  granted,  but 
no  panorama.  A  fuller  inspiration  should  cause 
the  point  to  flow  and  become  a  line,  should  bend 
the  line  and  complete  the  circle.  To-day  the  elec 
tric  machine  will  not  work,  no  spark  will  pass  ; 
then  presently  the  world  is  all  a  cat's  back,  all 
sparkle  and  shock.  Sometimes  there  is  no  sea-fire, 
and  again  the  sea  is  aglow  to  the  horizon.  Some 
times  the  ^Eolian  harp  is  dumb  all  day  in  the  win 
dow,  and  again  it  is  garrulous  and  tells  all  the 
secrets  of  the  world.  In  June  the  morning  is  noisy 
with  birds  ;  in  August  they  are  already  getting  old 
and  silent. 

Hence  arises  the  question,  Are  these  moods  in 
any  degree  within  control  ?  If  we  knew  how  to 
command  them  !  But  where  is  the  Franklin  with 
kite  or  rod  for  this  fluid  ?  —  a  Franklin  who  can 
draw  off  electricity  from  Jove  himself,  and  con 
vey  it  into  the  arts  of  life,  inspire  men,  take  them 


260  INSPIRATION. 

off  their  feet,  withdraw  them  from  the  life  of  trifles 
and  gain  and  comfort,  and  make  the  world  trans 
parent,  so  that  they  can  read  the  symbols  of  na 
ture  ?  What  metaphysician  has  undertaken  to 
enumerate  the  tonics  of  the  torpid  mind,  the  rules 
for  the  recovery  of  inspiration?  That  is  least 
within  control  which  is  best  in  them.  Of  the 
modus  of  inspiration  we  have  no  knowledge.  But 
in  the  experience  of  meditative  men  there  is  a 
certain  agreement  as  to  the  conditions  of  recep 
tion.  Plato,  in  his  seventh  Epistle,  notes  that 
the  perception  is  only  accomplished  by  long  famil 
iarity  with  the  objects  of  intellect,  and  a  life  ac 
cording  to  the  things  themselves.  "  Then  a  light, 
as  if  leaping  from  a  fire,  will  on  a  sudden  be 
enkindled  in  the  soul,  and  will  then  itself  nourish 
itself."  He  said  again,  "  The  man  who  is  his  own 
master  knocks  in  vain  at  the  doors  of  poetry." 
The  artists  must  be  sacrificed  to  their  art.  Like 
bees,  they  must  put  their  lives  into  the  sting  they 
give.  What  is  a  man  good  for  without  enthu 
siasm  ?  and  what  is  enthusiasm  but  this  daring  of 
ruin  for  its  object?  There  are  thoughts  beyond 
the  reaches  of  our  souls ;  we  are  not  the  less 
drawn  to  them.  The  moth  flies  into  the  flame 
of  the  lamp;  and  Swedenborg  must  solve  the 
problems  that  haunt  him,  though  he  be  crazed 
or  killed. 


INSPIRATION.  261 

There  is  genius  as  well  in  virtue  as  in  intellect. 
'T  is  the  doctrine  of  faith  over  works.  The  rap 
tures  of  goodness  are  as  old  as  history  and  new 
with  this  morning's  sun.  The  legends  of  Arabia, 
Persia,  and  India  are  of  the  same  complexion  as 
the  Christian.  Socrates,  Menu,  Confucius,  Zer- 
tusht,  —  we  recognize  in  all  of  them  this  ardor 
to  solve  the  hints  of  thought. 

I  hold  that  ecstasy  will  be  found  normal,  or 
only  an  example  on  a  higher  plane  of  the  same 
gentle  gravitation  by  which  stones  fall  and  rivers 
run.  Experience  identifies.  Shakspeare  seems  to 
you  miraculous  ;  but  the  wonderful  juxtapositions, 
parallelisms,  transfers,  which  his  genius  effected, 
were  all  to  him  lockecl  together  as  links  of  a 
chain,  and  the  mode  precisely  as  conceivable  and 
familiar  to  higher  intelligence  as  the  index-making 
of  the  literary  hack.  The  result  of  the  hack  is 
inconceivable  to  the  type-setter  who  waits  for  it. 

We  must  prize  our  own  youth.  Later,  we  want 
heat  to  execute  our  plans :  the  good-will,  the 
knowledge,  the  whole  armory  of  means  are  all 
present,  but  a  certain  heat  that  once  used  not  to 
fail,  refuses  its  office,  and  all  is  vain  until  this 
capricious  fuel  is  supplied.  It  seems  a  semi-animal 
heat ;  as  if  tea,  or  wine,  or  sea-air,  or  mountains, 
or  a  genial  companion,  or  a  new  thought  sug 
gested  in  book  or  conversation  could  fire  the 


262  INSPIRATION. 

train,  wake  the  fancy  arid  the  clear  perception. 
Pit-coal,  —  where  to  find  it  ?  'T  is  of  no  use 
that  your  engine  is  made  like  a  watch,  —  that 
you  are  a  good  workman,  and  know  how  to  drive 
it,  if  there  is  no  coal.  We  are  waiting  until 
some  tyrannous  idea  emerging  out  of  heaven 
shall  seize  and  bereave  us  of  this  liberty  with 
which  we  are  falling  abroad.  Well,  we  have 
the  same  hint  or  suggestion,  day  by  day.  "  I  am 
not,"  says  the  man,  "  at  the  top  of  my  condition 
to-day,  but  the  favorable  hour  will  come  when  I 
can  command  all  my  powers,  and  when  that  will 
be  easy  to  do  which  is  at  this  moment  impossi 
ble."  See  how  the  passions  augment  our  force,  — 
anger,  love,  ambition  !  —  sometimes  sympathy,  and 
the  expectation  of  men.  Garrick  said  that  on 
the  stage  his  great  paroxysms  surprised  himself 
as  much  as  his  audience.  If  this  is  true  on  this 
low  plane,  it  is  true  on  the  higher.  Swedenborg's 
genius  was  the  perception  of  the  doctrine  that 
"The  Lord  flows  into  the  spirits  of  angels  and 
of  men ; "  and  all  poets  have  signalized  their 
consciousness  of  rare  moments  when  they  were 
superior  to  themselves,  —  when  a  light,  a  freedom, 
a  power  came  to  them  which  lifted  them  to  per 
formances  far  better  than  they  could  reach  at 
other  times ;  so  that  a  religious  poet  once  told 
me  that  he  valued  his  poems,  not  because  they 


INSPIRATION.  263 

were  his,  but  because  they  were  not.  He  thought 
the  angels  brought  them  to  him. 

Jacob  Behmen  said  :  "  Art  has  not  wrote  here, 
nor  was  there  any  time  to  consider  how  to  set 
it  punctually  down  according  to  the  right  under 
standing  of  the  letters,  but  all  was  ordered  ac 
cording  to  the  direction  of  the  spirit,  which  often 
went  on  haste,  —  so  that  the  penman's  hand,  by 
reason  he  was  not  accustomed  to  it,  did  often 
shake.  And,  though  I  could  have  written  in  a 
more  accurate,  fair,  and  plain  manner,  the  burn 
ing  fire  often  forced  forward  with  speed,  and  the 
hand  and  pen  must  hasten  directly  after  it,  for 
it  conies  and  goes  as  a  sudden  shower.  In  one 
quarter  of  an  hour  I  saw  and  knew  more  than 
if  I  had  been  many  years  together  at  an  univer 
sity." 

The  depth  of  the  notes  which  we  accidentally 
sound  on  the  strings  of  nature  is  out  of  all  propor 
tion  to  our  taught  and  ascertained  faculty,  and 
might  teach  us  what  strangers  and  novices  we  are, 
vagabond  in  this  universe  of  pure  power,  to  which 
we  have  only  the  smallest  key.  Herrick  said :  — 

"  'T  is  not  every  day  that  I 
Fitted  am  to  prophesy  ; 
No,  but  when  the  spirit  fills 
The  fantastic  panicles, 
Full  of  fire,  then  I  write 


264  INSPIRATION. 

As  the  Godhead  doth  indite. 
Thus  enraged,  my  lines  are  hurled, 
Like  the  Sibyl's,  through  the  world  : 
Look  how  next  the  holy  fire 
Either  slakes,  or  doth  retire  ; 
So  the  fancy  cools,  —  till  when 
That  brave  spirit  comes  again." 

Bonaparte  said  :  "  There  is  no  man  more  pusillani 
mous  than  I,  when  I  make  a  military  plan.  I  mag 
nify  all  the  dangers,  and  all  the  possible  mischances. 
I  am  in  an  agitation  utterly  painful.  That  does  not 
prevent  me  from  appearing  quite  serene  to  the  per 
sons  who  surround  me.  I  am  like  a  woman  with 
child,  and  when  my  resolution  is  taken,  all  is  for 
got  except  whatever  can  make  it  succeed." 

There  are,  to  be  sure,  certain  risks  in  this  presen 
timent  of  the  decisive  perception,  as  in  the  use  of 
ether  or  alcohol :  — 

"  Great  wits  to  madness  nearijtare  allied  ; 
Both  serve  to  make  our  poverty  our  pride." 

Aristotle  said  :  "  No  great  genius  was  ever  with 
out  some  mixture  of  madness,  nor  can  anything 
grand  or  superior  to  the  voice  of  common  mortals 
be  spoken  except  by  the  agitated  soul."  We  might 
say  of  these  memorable  moments  of  life  that  we 
were  in  them,  not  they  in  us.  We  found  ourselves 
by  happy  fortune  in  an  illuminated  portion  or  me- 
teorous  zone,  and  passed  out  of  it  again,  so  aloof 


INSPIRATION.  265 

was  it  from  any  will  of  ours.  "  It  is  a  principle  of 
war,"  said  Napoleon,  "  that  when  you  can  use  the 
lightning  it  is  better  than  cannon." 

How  many  sources  of  inspiration  can  we  count  ? 
As  many  as  our  affinities.  But  to  a  practical  pur 
pose  we  may  reckon  a  few  of  these. 

1.  Health  is  the  first  muse,  comprising  the  magi 
cal  benefits  of  air,  landscape,  and  bodily  exercise, 
on  the  mind.  The  Arabs  say  that  "  Allah  does  not 
count  irom  life  the  days  spent  in  the  chase,"  that 
is,  those  are  thrown  in.  Plato  thought  "  exercise 
would  almost  cure  a  guilty  conscience."  Sydney 
Smith  said :  "  You  will  never  break  down  in  a 
speech  on  the  day  when  you  have  walked  twelve 
miles." 

I  honor  health  as  the  first  muse,  and  sleep  as 
the  condition  of  health.  Sleep  benefits  mainly  by 
the  sound  health  it  produces  ;  incidentally  also  by 
dreams,  into  whose  farrago  a  divine  lesson  is  some 
times  slipped.  Life  is  in  short  cycles  or  periods  ; 
we  are  quickly  tired,  but  we  have  rapid  rallies.  A 
man  is  spent  by  his  work,  starved,  prostrate  ;  he 
will  not  lift  his  hand  to  save  his  life ;  he  can  never 
think  more.  He  sinks  into  deep  sleep  and  wakes 
with  renewed  youth,  with  hope,  courage,  fertile  in 
resources,  and  keen  for  daring  adventure. 

"  Sleep  is  like  death,  and  after  sleep 
The  world  seems  new  begun  ; 


266  INSPIRATION. 

White  thoughts  stand  luminous  and  firm, 

Like  statues  in  the  sun  ; 
Refreshed  from  supersensuous  founts, 
The  soul  to  clearer  vision  mounts."  1 

A  man  must  be  able  to  escape  from  his  cares  and 
fears,  as  well  as  from  hunger  and  want  of  sleep  ; 
so  that  another  Arabian  proverb  has  its  coarse 
truth  :  "  When  the  belly  is  full,  it  says  to  the  head, 
Sing,  fellow  !  "  The  perfection  of  writing  is  when 
mind  and  body  are  both  in  key  ;  when  the  mind 
finds  perfect  obedience  in  the  body.  And  wine, 
no  doubt,  and  all  fine  food,  as  of  delicate  fruits, 
furnish  some  elemental  wisdom.  And  the  fire,  too, 
as  it  burns  in  the  chimney  ;  for  I  fancy  that  my 
logs,  which  have  grown  so  long  in  sun  and  wind 
by  Walden,  are  a  kind  of  muses.  So  of  all  the 
particulars  of  health  and  exercise  and  fit  nutriment 
and  tonics.  Some  people  will  tell  you  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  poetry  and  fine  sentiment  in  a  chest 
of  tea. 

2.  The  experience  of  writing  letters  is  one  of  the 
keys  to  the  modus  of  inspiration.  When  we  have 
ceased  for  a  long  time  to  have  any  fulness  of 
thoughts  that  once  made  a  diary  a  joy  as  well  as 
a  necessity,  and  have  come  to  believe  that  an  image 
or  a  happy  turn  of  expression  is  no  longer  at  our 
command,  in  writing  a  letter  to  a  friend  we  may 
find  that  we  rise  to  thought  and  to  a  cordial  power 
1  Alliiigham. 


INSPIRATION.  267 

of  expression  that  costs  no  effort,  and  it  seems  to 
us  that  this  facility  may  be  indefinitely  applied  and 
resumed.  The  wealth  of  the  mind  in  this  respect 
of  seeing  is  like  that  of  a  looking-glass,  which  is 
never  tired  or  worn  by  any  multitude  of  objects 
which  it  reflects.  You  may  carry  it  all  round  the 
world,  it  is  ready  and  perfect  as  ever  for  new  mil 
lions. 

3.  Another  consideration,  though  it  will  not  so 
much  interest  young  men,  will  cheer  the  heart  of 
older  scholars,  namely  that  there  is  diurnal  and 
secular  rest.  As  there  is  this  daily  renovation 
of  sensibility,  so  it  sometimes  if  rarely  happens 
that  after  a  season  of  decay  or  eclipse,  darkening 
months  or  years,  the  faculties  revive  to  their  fullest 
force.  One  of  the  best  facts  I  know  in  metaphys 
ical  science  is  Niebuhr's  joyful  record  that  after 
his  genius  for  interpreting  history  had  failed  him 
for  several  years,  this  divination  returned  to  him. 
As  this  rejoiced  me,  so  does  Herbert's  poem  "  The 
Flower."  His  health  had  broken  down  early,  he 
had  lost  his  muse,  and  in  this  poem  he  says :  — 

"  And  now  in  age  I  bud  again, 

After  so  many  deaths  I  live  and  write  ; 
I  once  more  smell  the  dew  and  rain, 
And  relish  versing  :  O  my  only  light, 

It  cannot  be 

That  I  am  he 
On  whom  thy  tempests  fell  all  night." 


268  INS  FIR  A  TION. 

His  poem  called  "  The  Forerunners  "  also  has  su 
preme  interest.  I  understand  "  The  Harbingers  " 
to  refer  to  the  signs  of  age  and  decay  which  he  de 
tects  in  himself,  not  only  in  his  constitution,  but  in 
his  fancy  and  his  facility  and  grace  in  writing  verse  ; 
and  he  signalizes  his  delight  in  this  skill,  and  his 
pain  that  the  Herricks,  Lovelaces,  and  Marlows,  or 
whoever  else,  should  use  the  like  genius  in  language 
to  sensual  purpose,  and  consoles  himself  that  his 
own  faith  and  the  divine  life  in  him  remain  to  him 
unchanged,  unharmed. 

4.  The  power  of  the  will  is  sometimes  sublime  ; 
and  what  is  will  for,  if  it  cannot  help  us  in  emer 
gencies  ?  Seneca  says  of  an  almost  fatal  sickness 
that  befell  him,  "  The  thought  of  my  father,  who 
could  not  have  sustained  such  a  blow  as  my  death, 
restrained  me ;  I  commanded  myself  to  live." 
Goethe  said  to  Eckermann,  "  I  work  more  easily 
when  the  barometer  is  high  than  when  it  is  low. 
Since  I  know  this,  I  endeavor,  when  the  barometer 
is  low,  to  counteract  the  injurious  effect  by  greater 
exertion,  and  my  attempt  is  successful." 

"  To  the  persevering  mortal  the  blessed  immortals 
are  swift."  Yes,  for  they  know  how  to  give  you  in 
one  moment  the  solution  of  the  riddle  you  have 
pondered  for  months.  "  Had  I  not  lived  with 
Mirabeau,"  says  Dumont,  "  I  never  should  have 
known  all  that  can  be  done  in  one  day,  or,  rather, 


INSPIRATION.  269 

in  an  interval  of  twelve  hours.  A  day  to  him  was 
of  more  value  than  a  week  or  a  month  to  others. 
To-morrow  to  him  was  not  the  same  impostor  as  to 
most  others." 

5.  Plutarch  affirms  that  "  souls  are  naturally  en 
dowed  with  the  faculty  of  prediction,  and  the  chief 
cause  that  excites  this  faculty  and  virtue  is  a  cer 
tain  temperature  of  air  and  winds."  My  anchorite 
thought  it  "  sad  that  atmospheric  influences  should 
bring  to  our  dust  the  communion  of  the  soul  with 
the  Infinite."  But  I  am  glad  that  the  atmosphere 
should  be  an  excitant,  glad  to  find  the  dull  rock 
itself  to  be  deluged  with  Deity, — to  be  theist, 
Christian,  poetic.  The  fine  influences  of  the  morn 
ing  few  can  explain,  but  all  will  admit.  Goethe 
acknowledges  them  in  the  poem  in  wrhich  he  dis 
lodges  the  nightingale  from  her  place  as  Leader  of 
the  Muses  :  — 

MUSAGETES. 

"  Often  in  deep  midnights 
I  called  on  the  sweet  muses. 
No  dawn  shines, 
And  no  day  will  appear: 
But  at  the  right  hour 
The  lamp  brings  me  pious  light, 
That  it,  instead  of  Aurora  or  Phoebus, 
May  enliven  my  quiet  industry. 
But  they  left  me  lying  in  sleep 
Dull,  and  not  to  be  enlivened, 


270  INSPIRATION. 

And  after  every  late  morning 
Followed  unprofitable  days. 

"  When  now  the  Spring  stirred, 
I  said  to  the  nightingales : 
'  Dear  nightingales,  trill 
Early,  O,  early  before  my  lattice, 
Wake  me  out  of  the  deep  sleep 
Which  mightily  chains  the  young  man.' 
But  the  love-filled  singers 
Poured  by  night  before  my  window 
Their  sweet  melodies,  — 
Kept  awake  my  dear  soul, 
Roused  tender  new  longings 
In  my  lately  touched  bosom, 
And  so  the  night  passed, 
And  Aurora  found  me  sleeping; 
Yea,  hardly  did  the  sun  wake  me. 
At  last  it  has  become  summer, 
And  at  the  first  glimpse  of  morning 
The  busy  early  fly  stings  me 
Out  of  my  sweet  slumber. 
Unmerciful  she  returns  again: 
When  often  the  half-awake  victim 
Impatiently  drives  her  off, 
She  calls  hither  the  unscrupulous  sisters, 
And  from  my  eyelids 
Sweet  sleep  must  depart. 
Vigorous,  I  spring  from  my  couch, 
Seek  the  beloved  Muses, 
Find  them  in  the  beech  grove, 
Pleased  to  receive  me; 
And  I  thank  the  annoying  insect 


INSPIRATION.  271 

For  many  a  golden  hour. 

Stand,  then,  for  me,  ye  tormenting  creatures, 

Highly  praised  by  the  poet 

As  the  true  Musagetes." 

The  French  have  a  proverb  to  the  effect  that  not 
the  clay  only,  but  all  things  have  their  morning,  — 
"  11  riy  a  que  le  matin  en  toutes  closes."  And  it 
is  a  primal  rule  to  defend  your  morning,  to  keep  all 
its  dews  on,  and  with  fine  foresight  to  relieve  it  from 
any  jangle  of  affairs  —  even  from  the  question, 
Which  task?  I  remember  a  capital  prudence  of 
old  President  Quincy,  who  told  me  that  he  never 
went  to  bed  at  night  until  he  had  laid  out  the  studies 
for  the  next  morning.  I  believe  that  in  our  good 
days  a  well-ordered  mind  has  a  new  thought  await 
ing  it  every  morning.  And  hence,  eminently 
thoughtful  men,  from  the  time  of  Pythagoras  down, 
have  insisted  on  an  hour  of  solitude  every  day,  to 
meet  their  own  mind  and  learn  what  oracle  it  has 
to  impart.  If  a  new  view  of  life  or  mind  gives  us 
joy,  so  does  new  arrangement.  I  don't  know  but 
we  take  as  much  delight  in  finding  the  right  place 
for  an  old  observation,  as  in  a  new  thought. 

6  Solitary  converse  with  nature  ;  for  thence  are 
ejaculated  sweet  and  dreadful  words  never  uttered 
in  libraries.  Ah!  the  spring  days,  the  summer 
dawns,  the  October  woods  !  I  confide  that  my 
reader  knows  these  delicious  secrets,  has  perhaps 


272  INSPIRATION. 

"  Slighted  Minerva's  learned  tongue, 
But  leaped  with  joy  when  on  the  wind  the  shell  of  Clio  rung." 

Are  you  poetical,  impatient  of  trade,  tired  of 
labor  and  affairs  ?  Do  you  want  Monadnoc,  Agio- 
cochook,  or  Helvellyn,  or  Plinlimmon,  dear  to  Eng 
lish  song,  in  your  closet  ?  Caerleon,  Provence, 
Ossian,  and  Cadwallon?  Tie  a  couple  of  strings 
across  a  board  and  set  it  in  your  window,  and  you 
have  an  instrument  which  no  artist's  harp  can  rival. 
It  needs  no  instructed  ear ;  if  you  have  sensibility 
it  admits  you  to  sacred  interiors ;  it  has  the  sad 
ness  of  nature,  yet,  at  the  changes,  tones  of  triumph 
and  festal  notes  ringing  out  all  measures  of  lofti 
ness.  "Did  you  never  observe,"  says  Gray,  '"while 
rocking  winds  are  piping  loud,'  that  pause,  as  the 
gust  is  recollecting  itself,  and  rising  upon  the  ear 
in  a  shrill  and  plaintive  note,  like  the  swell  of  an 
-ZEolian  harp  ?  I  do  assure  you  there  is  nothing  in 
the  world  so  like  the  voice  of  a  spirit."  Perhaps 
you  can  recall  a  delight  like  it,  which  spoke  to  the 
eye,  when  you  have  stood  by  a  lake  in  the  woods  in 
summer,  and  saw  where  little  flaws  of  wind  whip 
spots  or  patches  of  still  water  into  fleets  of  ripples, 
—  so  sudden,  so  slight,  so  spiritual,  that  it  was  more 
like  the  rippling  of  the  Aurora  Borealis  at  night 
than  any  spectacle  of  day. 

7.  But  the  solitude  of  nature  is  not  so  essential 
as  solitude  of  habit.  I  have  found  my  advantage 


INSPIRATION.  273 

in  going  in  summer  to  a  country  inn,  in  winter  to 
a  city  hotel,  with  a  task  which  would  not  prosper 
at  home.  I  thus  secured  a  more  absolute  seclu 
sion  ;  for  it  is  almost  impossible  for  a  housekeeper 
who  is  in  the  country  a  small  farmer,  to  exclude  in 
terruptions  and  even  necessary  orders,  though  I 
bar  out  by  system  all  I  can,  and  resolutely  omit,  to 
my  constant  damage,  all  that  can  be  omitted.  At 
home,  the  day  is  cut  into  short  strips.  In  the  hotel, 
I  have  no  hours  to  keep,  no  visits  to  make  or  re 
ceive,  and  I  command  an  astronomic  leisure.  I 
forget  rain,  wind,  cold,  and  heat.  At  home,  I  re 
member  in  my  library  the  wants  of  the  farm,  and 
have  all  too  much  sympathy.  I  envy  the  abstrac 
tion  of  some  scholars  I  have  known,  who  could  sit 
on  a  curbstone  in  State  Street,  put  up  their  back, 
and  solve  their  problem.  I  have  more  womanly 
eyes.  All  the  conditions  must  be  right  for  my 
success,  slight  as  that  is.  What  untunes  is  as  bad 
as  what  cripples  or  stuns  me.  Novelty,  surprise, 
change  of  scene,  refresh  the  artist,  —  "  break  up 
the  tiresome  old  roof  of  heaven  into  new  forms," 
as  Hafiz  said.  The  sea-shore  and  the  taste  of  two 
metals  in  contact,  and  our  enlarged  powers  in  the 
presence,  or  rather  at  the  approach  and  at  the  de 
parture  of  a  friend,  and  the  mixture  of  lie  in  truth, 
and  the  experience  of  poetic  creativeiiess  which  is 
not  found  in  staying  at  home  nor  yet  in  travelling, 

VOL.    VIII.  18 


274  INSPIRATION. 

but  in  transitions  from  one  to  the  other,  which  must 
therefore  be  adroitly  managed  to  present  as  much 
transitional  surface  as  possible,  —  these  are  the 
types  or  conditions  of  this  power.  "  A  ride  near 
the  sea,  a  sail  near  the  shore,"  said  the  ancient. 
So  Montaigne  travelled  with  his  books,-  but  did  not 
read  in  them.  "  La  Nature  aime  les  croisements" 
says  Fourier. 

I  know  there  is  room  for  whims  here ;  but  in 
regard  to  some  apparent  trifles  there  is  great  agree 
ment  as  to  their  annoyance.  And  the  machine 
with  which  we  are  dealing  is  of  such  an  inconceiv 
able  delicacy  that  whims  also  must  be  respected. 
Fire  must  lend  its  aid.  We  not  only  want  time, 
but  warm  time.  George  Sand  says,  "  I  have  no 
enthusiasm  for  nature  which  the  slightest  chill  will 
not  instantly  destroy."  And  I  remember  that  Tho- 
reau,  with  his  robust  will,  yet  found  certain  trifles 
disturbing  the  delicacy  of  that  health  which  compo 
sition  exacted,  —  namely,  the  slightest  irregularity, 
even  to  the  drinking  too  much  water  on  the  pre 
ceding  day.  Even  a  steel  pen  is  a  nuisance  to 
some  writers.  Some  of  us  may  remember,  years 
ago,  in  the  English  journals,  the  petition,  signed 
by  Carlyle,  Browning,  Tennyson,  Dickens  and  other 
writers  in  London,  against  the  license  of  the  organ- 
grinders,  who  infested  the  streets  near  their  houses, 
to  levy  on  them  blackmail. 


INSPIRATION.  275 

Certain  localities,  as  mountain-tops,  the  sea-side, 
the  shores  of  rivers  and  rapid  brooks,  natural  parks 
of  oak  and  pine,  where  the  ground  is  smooth  and 
unencumbered,  are  excitants  of  the  muse.  Every 
artist  knows  well  some  favorite  retirement.  And 
yet  the  experience  of  some  good  artists  has  taught 
them  to  prefer  the  smallest  and  plainest  chamber, 
with  one  chair  and  table  and  with  no  outlook,  to 
these  picturesque  liberties.  William  Blake  said, 
"  Natural  objects  always  did  and  do  weaken,  deaden, 
and  obliterate  imagination  in  me."  And  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  had  no  pleasure  in  Richmond ;  he  used  to 
say  "  the  human  face  was  his  landscape."  These 
indulgences  are  to  be  used  with  great  caution.  All- 
ston  rarely  left  his  studio  by  day.  An  old  friend 
took  him,  one  fine  afternoon,  a  spacious  circuit  into 
the  country,  and  he  painted  two  or  three  pictures 
as  the  fruits  of  that  drive.  But  he  made  it  a  rule 
not  to  go  to  the  city  on  two  consecutive  days.  One 
was  rest ;  more  was  lost  time.  The  times  of  force 
must  be  well  husbanded,  and  the  wise  student  will 
remember  the  prudence  of  Sir  Tristam  in  Morte 
$  Arthur,  who,  having  received  from  the  fairy  an 
enchantment  of  six  hours  of  growing  strength  every 
day,  took  care  to  fight  in  the  hours  when  his 
strength  increased ;  since  from  noon  to  night  his 
strength  abated.  What  prudence  again  does  every 
artist,  every  scholar  need  in  the  security  of  his 


276  INSPIRATION. 

easel  or  his  desk !  These  must  be  remote  from  the 
work  of  the  house,  and  from  all  knowledge  of  the 
feet  that  come  and  go  therein.  Allston,  it  is  said, 
had  two  or  three  rooms  in  different  parts  of  Bos 
ton,  where  he  could  not  be  found.  For  the  deli 
cate  muses  lose  their  head  if  their  attention  is  once 
diverted.  Perhaps  if  you  were  successful  abroad  in 
talking  and  dealing  with  men,  you  would  not  come 
back  to  your  book-shelf  and  your  task.  When  the 
spirit  chooses  you  for  its  scribe  to  publish  some 
commandment,  it  makes  you  odious  to  men  and 
men  odious  to  you,  and  you  shall  accept  that  loath 
someness  with  joy.  The  moth  must  fly  to  the 
lamp,  and  you  must  solve  those  questions  though 
you  die. 

8.  Conversation,  which,  when  it  is  best,  is  a 
series  of  intoxications.  Not  Aristotle,  not  Kant  or 
Hegel,  but  conversation,  is  the  right  metaphysical 
professor.  This  is  the  true  school  of  philosophy,  — 
this  the  college  where  you  learn  what  thoughts  are, 
what  powers  lurk  in  those  fugitive  gleams,  and 
what  becomes  of  them  ;  how  they  make  history. 
A  wise  man  goes  to  this  game  to  play  upon  others 
and  to  be  played  upon,  and  at  least  as  curious  to 
know  what  can  be  drawn  from  himself  as  what  can 
be  drawn  from  them.  For,  in  discourse  with  a 
friend,  our  thought,  hitherto  wrapped  in  our  con 
sciousness,  detaches  itself,  and  allows  itself  to  be 


INS  P  IRA  TION.  277 

seen  as  a  thought,  in  a  manner  as  new  and  enter 
taining  to  us  as  to  our  companions.  For  provoca 
tion  of  thought,  we  use  ourselves  and  use  each 
other.  Some  perceptions  —  I  think  the  best  —  are 
granted  to  the  single  soul ;  they  come  from  the 
depth  and  go  to  the  depth  and  are  the  permanent 
and  controlling  ones.  Others  it  takes  two  to  find. 
We  must  be  warmed  by  the  fire  of  sympathy,  to  be 
brought  into  the  right  conditions  and  angles  of 
vision.  Conversation  ;  for  intellectual  activity  is 
contagious.  We  are  emulous.  If  the  tone  of  the 
companion  is  higher  than  ours,  we  delight  in  rising 
to  it.  'T  is  a  historic  observation  that  a  writer 
must  find  an  audience  up  to  his  thought,  or  he  will 
no  longer  care  to  impart  it,  but  will  sink  to  their 
level  or  be  silent.  Homer  said,  "  When  two  come 
together,  one  apprehends  before  the  other ;  "  but  it 
is  because  one  thought  well  that  the  other  thinks 
better :  and  two  men  of  good  mind  will  excite  each 
other's  activity,  each  attempting  still  to  cap  the 
other's  thought.  In  enlarged  conversation  we  have 
suggestions  that  require  new  ways  of  living,  new 
books,  new  men,  new  arts  and  sciences.  By  sym 
pathy,  each  opens  to  the  eloquence,  and  begins  to 
see  with  the  eyes  of  his  mind.  We  were  all  lonely, 
thoughtless ;  and  now  a  principle  appears  to  all :  we 
see  new  relations,  many  truths ;  every  mind  seizes 
them  as  they  pass ;  each  catches  by  the  mane  one 


278  INSPIRATION. 

of  these  strong  coursers  like  horses  of  the  prairie, 
and  rides  up  and  down  in  the  world  of  the  intellect. 
We  live  day  by  day  under  the  illusion  that  it  is  the 
fact  or  event  that  imports,  whilst  really  it  is  not 
that  which  signifies,  but  the  use  we  put  it  to,  or 
what  we  think  of  it.  We  esteem  nations  important, 
until  we  discover  that  a  few  individuals  much  more 
concern  us ;  then,  later,  that  it  is  not  at  last  a  few 
individuals,  or  any  sacred  heroes,  but  the  lowliness, 
the  outpouring,  the  large  equality  to  truth  of  a 
single  mind,  —  as  if  in  the  narrow  walls  of  a  human 
heart  the  whole  realm  of  truth,  the  world  of  morals, 
the  tribunal  by  which  the  universe  is  judged,  found 
room  to  exist. 

9.  New  poetry  ;  by  which  I  mean  chiefly,  old 
poetry  that  is  new  to  the  reader.  I  have  heard 
from  persons  who  had  practice  in  rhyming,  that  it 
was  sufficient  to  set  them  on  writing  verses,  to  read 
any  original  poetry.  What  is  best  in  literature  is 
the  affirming,  prophesying,  spermatic  words  of  men- 
making  poets.  Only  that  is  poetry  which  cleanses 
and  mans  me. 

Words  used  in  a  new  sense  and  figuratively, 
dart  a  delightful  lustre ;  and  every  word  admits  a 
new  use,  and  hints  ulterior  meanings.  We  have 
not  learned  the  law  of  the  mind,  —  cannot  control 
and  domesticate  at  will  the  high  states  of  contem 
plation  and  continuous  thought.  "  Neither  by  sea 


INSPIRATION.  279 

nor  by  land,"  said  Pindar,  "  canst  thou  find  the 
way  to  the  Hyperboreans ;  "  neither  by  idle  wish 
ing,  nor  by  rule  of  three  or  rule  of  thumb.  Yet  I 
find  a  mitigation  or  solace  by  providing  always 
a  good  book  for  my  journeys,  as  Horace  or  Mar 
tial  or  Goethe,  —  some  book  which  lifts  me  quite 
out  of  prosaic  surroundings,  and  from  which  I 
draw  some  lasting  knowledge.  A  Greek  epigram 
out  of  the  anthology,  a  verse  of  Herrick  or  Love 
lace,  are  in  harmony  both  with  sense  and  spirit. 

You  shall  not  read  newspapers,  nor  politics,  nor 
novels,  nor  Montaigne,  nor  the  newest  French  book. 
You  may  read  Plutarch,  Plato,  Plotinus,  Hindoo 
mythology  and  ethics.  You  may  read  Chaucer, 
Shakspeare,  Ben  Jonson,  Milton,  —  and  Milton's 
prose  as  his  verse ;  read  Collins  and  Gray  ;  read 
Hafiz  and  the  Trouveurs ;  nay,  Welsh  and  British 
mythology  of  Arthur,  and  (in  your  ear)  Ossian  ; 
fact-books,  which  all  geniuses  prize  as  raw  material, 
and  as  antidote  to  verbiage  and  false  poetry.  Fact- 
books,  if  the  facts  be  well  and  thoroughly  told,  are 
much  more  nearly  allied  to  poetry  than  many 
books  are  that  are  written  in  rhyme.  Only  our 
newest  knowledge  works  as  a  source  of  inspiration 
and  thought,  as  only  the  outmost  layer  of  liber  on 
the  tree.  Books  of  natural  science,  especially  those 
written  by  the  ancients,  —  geography,  botany,  agri 
culture,  explorations  of  the  sea,  of  meteors,  of  as- 


280  INSPIRATION. 

tronomy,  —  all  the  better  if  written  without  literary 
aim  or  ambition.  Every  book  is  good  to  read 
which  sets  the  reader  in  a  working  mood.  The 
deep  book,  no  matter  how  remote  the  subject,  helps 
us  best. 

Neither  are  these  all  the  sources,  nor  can. I  name 
all.  The  receptivity  is  rare.  The  occasions  or  pre 
disposing  circumstances  I  could  never  tabulate ; 
but  now  one,  now  another  landscape,  form,  color, 
or  companion,  or  perhaps  one  kind  of  sounding 
word  or  syllable,  "  strikes  the  electric  chain  with 
which  we  are  darkly  bound,"  and  it  is  impossible 
to  detect  and  wilfully  repeat  the  fine  conditions  to 
which  we  have  owed  our  happiest  frames  of  mind. 
The  day  is  good  in  which  we  have  had  the  most 
perceptions.  The  analysis  is  the  more  difficult, 
because  poppy-leaves  are  strewn  when  a  generali 
zation  is  made ;  for  I  can  never  remember  the  cir 
cumstances  to  which  I  owe  it,  so  as  to  repeat  the 
experiment  or  put  myself  in  the  conditions  :  — 
"  'T  is  the  most  difficult  of  tasks  to  keep 
Heights  which  the  soul  is  competent  to  gain." 

I  value  literary  biography  for  the  hints  it  fur 
nishes  from  so  many  scholars,  in  so  many  countries, 
of  what  hygiene,  what  ascetic,  what  gymnastic, 
what  social  practices  their  experience  suggested 
and  approved.  They  are,  for  the  most  part,  men 
who  needed  only  a  little  wealth.  Large  estates, 


INSPIRATION.  281 

political  relations,  great  hospitalities,  would  have 
been  impediments  to  them.  They  are  men  whom 
a  book  could  entertain,  a  new  thought  intoxicate 
and  hold  them  prisoners  for  years  perhaps.  Au 
brey  and  Burton  and  Wood  tell  me  incidents  which 
I  find  not  insignificant. 

These  are  some  hints  towards  what  is  in  all  edu 
cation  a  chief  necessity,  —  the  right  government, 
or,  shall  I  not  say  ?  the  right  obedience  to  the 
powers  of  the  human  soul.  Itself  is  the  dictator; 
the  mind  itself  the  awful  oracle.  All  our  power, 
all  our  happiness  consists  in  our  reception  of  its 
hints,  which  ever  become  clearer  and  grander  as 
they  are  obeyed. 


GREATNESS. 


GREATNESS. 


THERE  is  a  prize  which  we  are  all  aiming  at,  and 
the  more  power  and  goodness  we  have,  so  much 
more  the  energy  of  that  aim.  Every  human  being 
has  a  right  to  it,  and  in  the  pursuit  we  do  not  stand 
in  each  other's  way.  For  it  has  a  long  scale  of 
degrees,  a  wide  variety  of  views,  and  every  aspi 
rant,  by  his  success  in  the  pursuit,  does  not  hinder 
but  helps  his  competitors.  I  might  call  it  com 
pleteness,  but  that  is  later,  —  perhaps  adjourned  for 
ages.  I  prefer  to  call  it  Greatness.  It  is  the  ful 
filment  of  a  natural  tendency  in  each  man.  It  is  a 
fruitful  study.  It  is  the  best  tonic  to  the  young 
soul.  And  no  man  is  unrelated  ;  therefore  we  ad 
mire  eminent  men,  not  for  themselves,  but  as  rep 
resentatives.  It  is  very  certain  that  we  ought  not 
to  be  and  shall  not  be  contented  with  any  goal  we 
have  reached.  Our  aim  is  no  less  than  greatness ; 
that  which  invites  all,  belongs  to  us  all,  —  to  which 
we  are  all  sometimes  untrue,  cowardly,  faithless, 
but  of  which  we  never  quite  despair,  and  which,  in 
every  sane  moment,  we  resolve  to  make  our  own. 


286  GREATNESS. 

It  is  also  the  only  platform  on  which  all  men  can 
meet.  What  anecdotes  of  any  man  do  we  wish  to 
hear  or  read  ?  Only  the  best.  Certainly  not  those 
in  which  he  was  degraded  to  the  level  of  dulness 
or  vice,  but  those  in  which  he  rose  above  all  com 
petition  by  obeying  a  light  that  shone  to  him  alone. 
This  is  the  worthiest  history  of  the  world. 

Greatness,  —  what  is  it  ?  Is  there  not  some  in 
jury  to  us,  some  insult  in  the  word  ?  What  we 
commonly  call  greatness  is  only  such  in  our  bar 
barous  or  infant  experience.  'Tis  not  the  soldier, 
not  Alexander  or  Bonaparte  or  Count  Moltke 
surely,  who  represent  the  highest  force  of  man 
kind;  not  the  strong  hand,  but  wisdom  and  civil 
ity,  the  creation  of  laws,  institutions,  letters,  and 
art.  These  we  call  by  distinction  the  humanities  ; 
these,  and  not  the  strong  arm  and  brave  heart, 
which  are  also  indispensable  to  their  defence.  For 
the  scholars  represent  the  intellect,  by  which  man 
is  man ;  the  intellect  and  the  moral  sentiment,  — 
which  in  the  last  analysis  can  never  be  separated. 
Who  can  doubt  the  potency  of  an  individual  mind, 
who  sees  the  shock  given  to  torpid  races  —  torpid 
for  ages  —  by  Mahomet ;  a  vibration  propagated 
over  Asia  and  Africa  ?  What  of  Menu  ?  what  of 
Buddha  ?  of  Shakspeare  ?  of  Newton  ?  of  Franklin  ? 

There  are   certain  points  of   identity  in   which 
these  masters  agree.     Self-respect  is  the  early  form 


GREATNESS.  287 

in  which  greatness  appears.  The  man  in  the  tav 
ern  maintains  his  opinion,  though  the  whole  crowd 
takes  the  other  side ;  we  are  at  once  drawn  to  him. 
The  porter  or  truckman  refuses  a  reward  for  find 
ing  your  purse,  or  for  pulling  you  drowning  out  of 
the  river.  Thereby,  with  the  service,  you  have  got 
a  moral  lift.  You  say  of  some  new  person,  That 
man  will  go  far,  —  for  you  see  in  his  manners  that 
the  recognition  of  him  by  others  is  not  necessary  to 
him.  And  what  a  bitter-sweet  sensation  when  we 
have  gone  to  pour  out  our  acknowledgment  of  a 
man's  nobleness,  and  found  him  quite  indifferent  to 
our  good  opinion !  They  may  well  fear  Fate  who 
have  any  infirmity  of  habit  or  aim;  but  he  who 
rests  on  what  he  is,  has  a  destiny  above  destiny, 
and  can  make  mouths  at  Fortune.  If  a  man's  cen- 
trality  is  incomprehensible  to  us,  we  may  as  well 
snub  the  sun.  There  is  something  in  Archimedes 
or  in  Luther  or  Samuel  Johnson  that  needs  no  pro 
tection.  There  is  somewhat  in  the  true  scholar 
which  he  cannot  be  laughed  out  of,  nor  be  terrified 
or  bought  off  from.  Stick  to  your  own  ;  don't  in 
culpate  yourself  in  the  local,  social,  or  national 
crime,  but  follow  the  path  your  genius  traces  like 
the  galaxy  of  heaven  for  you  to  walk  in. 

^  sensible  person  will  soon  see  the  folly  and 
wickedness  of  thinking  to  please.  Sensible  men 
are  very  rare.  A  sensible  man  does  not  brag, 


288  GREATNESS. 

avoids  introducing  the  names  of  his  creditable 
companions,  omits  himself  as  habitually  as  another 
man  obtrudes  himself  in  the  discourse,  and  is  con 
tent  with  putting  his  fact  or  theme  simply  on  its 
ground.  You  shall  not  tell  me  that  your  commer 
cial  house,  your  partners,  or  yourself  are  of  impor 
tance  ;  you  shall  not  tell  me  that  you  have  learned 
to  know  men ;  you  shall  make  me  feel  that ;  your 
saying  so  unsays  it.  You  shall  not  enumerate  your 
brilliant  acquaintances,  nor  tell  me  by  their  titles 
what  books  you  have  read.  I  am  to  infer  that  you 
keep  good  company  by  your  better  information  and 
manners,  and  to  infer  your  reading  from  the  wealth 
and  accuracy  of  your  conversation. 

Young  men  think  that  the  manly  character  re 
quires  that  they  should  go  to  California,  or  to 
India,  or  into  the  army.  When  they  have  learned 
that  the  parlor  and  the  college  and  the  counting- 
room  demand  as  much  courage  as  the  sea  or  the 
camp,  they  will  be  willing  to  consult  their  own 
strength  and  education  in  their  choice  of  place. 

There  are  to  each  function  and  department  of 
nature  supplementary  men :  to  geology,  sinewy, 
out-of-doors  men,  with  a  taste  for  mountains  and 
rocks,  a  quick  eye  for  differences  and  for  chemical 
changes.  Give  such,  first  a  course  in  chemistry, 
and  then  a  geological  survey.  Others  find  a  charm 
and  a  profession  in  the  natural  history  of  man  and 


GREATNESS.  289 

the  mammalia  or  related  animals ;  others  in  orni 
thology,  or  fishes,  or  insects ;  others  in  plants ; 
others  in  the  elements  of  which  the  whole  world  is 
made.  These  lately  have  stimulus  to  their  study 
through  the  extraordinary  revelations  of  the  spec 
troscope  that  the  sun  and  the  planets  are  made  in 
part  or  in  whole  of  the  same  elements  as  the  earth 
is.  Then  there  is  the  boy  who  is  born  with  a  taste 
for  the  sea,  and  must  go  thither  if  he  has  to  run 
away  from  his  father's  house  to  the  forecastle  ; 
another  longs  for  travel  in  foreign  lands  ;  another 
will  be  a  lawyer ;  another,  an  astronomer ;  another, 
a  painter,  sculptor,  architect,  or  engineer.  Thus 
there  is  not  a  piece  of  nature  in  any  kind  but  a 
man  is  born,  who,  as  his  genius  opens,  aims  slower 
or  faster  to  dedicate  himself  to  that.  Then  there 
is  the  poet,  the  philosopher,  the  politician,  the  ora 
tor,  the  clergyman,  the  physician.  'T  is  gratifying 
to  see  this  adaptation  of  man  to  the  world,  and  to 
every  part  and  particle  of  it. 

Many  readers  remember  that  Sir  Humphry  Davy 
said,  when  he  was  praised  for  his  important  discov 
eries,  "  My  best  discovery  was  Michael  Faraday." 
In  1848  I  had  the  privilege  of  hearing  Professor 
Faraday  deliver,  in  the  Royal  Institution  in  Lon 
don,  a  lecture  on  what  he  called  Diamagnetism,  — 
by  which  he  meant  cross-magnetism;  and  he  showed 
us  various  experiments  on  certain  gases,  to  prove 

VOL.    VIII.  19 


290  GREATNESS. 

that  whilst  ordinarily  magnetism  of  steel  is  from 
north  to  south,  in  other  substances,  gases,  it  acts 
from  east  to  west.  And  further  experiments  led 
him  to  the  theory  that  every  chemical  substance 
would  be  found  to  have  its  own,  and  a  different, 
polarity.  I  do  not  know  how  far  his  experiments 
and  others  have  been  pushed  in  this  matter,  but 
one  fact  is  clear  to  me,  that  diamagnetism  is  a  law 
of  the  mind,  to  the  full  extent  of  Faraday's  idea  ; 
namely,  that  every  mind  has  a  new  compass,  a  new 
north,  a  new  direction  of  its  own,  differencing  its 
genius  and  aim  from  every  other  mind  ;  —  as  every 
man,  with  whatever  family  resemblances,  has  a  new 
countenance,  new  manner,  new  voice,  new  thoughts, 
and  new  character.  Whilst  he  shares  with  all  man 
kind  the  gift  of  reason  and  the  moral  sentiment, 
there  is  a  teaching  for  him  from  within  which  is 
leading  him  in  a  new  path,  and,  the  more  it  is 
trusted,  separates  and  signalizes  him,  while  it  makes 
him  more  important  and  necessary  to  society.  We 
call  this  specialty  the  bias  of  each  individual.  And 
none  of  us  will  ever  accomplish  anything  excellent 
or  commanding  except  when  he  listens  to  this 
whisper  which  is  heard  by  him  alone.  Swedenborg 
called  it  the  proprium,  —  not  a  thought  shared  with 
others,  but  constitutional  to  the  man.  A  point  of 
education  that  I  can  never  too  much  insist  upon  is 
this  tenet  that  every  individual  man  has  a  bias 


GREATNESS.  291 

which  he  must  obey,  and  that  it  is  only  as  he  feels 
and  obeys  this  that  he  rightly  develops  and  attains 
his  legitimate  power  in  the  world.  It  is  his  mag 
netic  needle,  which  points  always  in  one  direction 
to  his  proper  path,  with  more  or  less  variation  from 
any  other  man's.  *  He  is  never  happy  nor  strong 
until  he  finds  it,  keeps  it ;  learns  to  be  at  home  with 
himself;  learns  to  watch  the  delicate  hints  and 
insights  that  come  to  him,  and  to  have  the  entire 
assurance  of  his  own  mind.  And  in  this  self- 
respect  or  hearkening  to  the  privatest  oracle,  he 
consults  his  ease  I  may  say,  or  need  never  be  at  a 
loss.  In  morals  this  is  conscience ;  in  intellect, 
genius  ;  in  practice,  talent ;  —  not  to  imitate  or  sur 
pass  a  particular  man  in  his  way,  but  to  bring  out 
your  own  new  way  ;  to  each^  his  own  jnetliod,  style, 
wit,  eloquence.  It  is  easy  for  a  commander  to  com- 
m:md.  Clinging  to  Nature,  or  to  that  province  of 
nature  which  he  knows,  he  makes  110  mistakes,  but 
works  after  her  laws  and  at  her  own  pace,  so  that 
his  doing,  which  is  perfectly  natural,  appears  mi 
raculous  to  dull  people.  Montluc,  the  great  Mar 
shal  of  France,  says  of  the  Genoese  admiral,  An 
drew  Doria,  "  It  seemed  as  if  the  sea  stood  in  awe 
of  this  man."  And  a  kindred  genius,  Nelson,  said, 
"I  feel  that  I  am  fitter  to  do  the  action  than. to 
describe  it."  Therefore  I  will  say  that  another 
trait  of  greatness  is  facility. 


292  GREATNESS. 

This  necessity  of  resting  on  the  real,  of  speaking 
your  private  thought  and  experience,  few  young 
men  apprehend.  Set  ten  men  to  write  their  journal 
for  one  day,  and  nine  of  them  will  leave  out  their 
thought,  or  proper  result,  —  that  is,  their  net  ex 
perience,  —  and  lose  themselves  in  misreporting  the 
supposed  experience  of  other  people.  Indeed  I 
think  it  an  essential  caution  to  young  writers,  that 
they  shall  not  in  their  discourse  leave  out  the  one 
thing  which  the  discourse  was  written  to  say.  Let 
that  belief  which  you  hold  alone,  have  free  course. 
I  have  observed  that  in  all  public  speaking,  the 
rule  of  the  orator  begins,  not  in  the  array  of  his 
facts,  but  when  his  deep  conviction,  and  the  right 
and  necessity  he  feels  to  convey  that  conviction  to 
his  audience,  —  when  these  shine  and  burn  in  his  ad 
dress  ;  when  the  thought  which  he  stands  for  gives 
its  own  authority  to  him,  adds  to  him  a  grander 
personality,  gives  him  valor,  breadth,  and  new  in 
tellectual  power,  so  that  not  he,  but  mankind,  seems 
to  speak  through  his  lips.  There  is  a  certain  trans 
figuration  ;  all  great  orators  have  it,  and  men  who 
wish  to  be  orators  simulate  it. 

If  we  should  ask  ourselves  what  is  this  self-re 
spect,  it  would  carry  us  to  the  highest  problems. 
It  is  our  practical  perception  of  the  Deity  in  man. 
It  has  its  deep  foundations  in  religion.  If  you  have 
ever  known  a  good  mind  among  the  Quakers,  you 


GREATNESS.  293 

will  have  found  that  is  the  element  of  their  faith. 
As  they  express  it,  it  might  be  thus  :  "  I  do  not 
pretend  to  any  commandment  or  large  revelation, 
but  if  at  any  time  I  form  some  plan,  propose  a 
journey  or  a  course  of  conduct,  I  perhaps  find  a 
silent  obstacle  in  my  mind  that  I  cannot  account 
for.  Very  well,  —  I  let  it  lie,  thinking  it  may 
pass  away,  but  if  it  do  not  pass  away  I  yield  to  it, 
obey  it.  You  ask  me  to  describe  it.  I  cannot  de 
scribe  it.  It  is  not  an  oracle,  nor  an  angel,  nor  a 
dream,  nor  a  law  ;  it  is  too  simple  to  be  described, 
it  is  but  a  grain  of  mustard-seed,  but  such  as  it  is, 
it  is  something  which  the  contradiction  of  all  man 
kind  could  not  shake,  and  which  the  consent  of  all 
mankind  could  not  confirm." 

You  are  rightly  fond  of  certain  books  or  men 
that  you  have  found  to  excite  your  reverence  and 
emulation.  But  none  of  these  can  compare  with 
the  greatness  of  that  counsel  which  is  open  to  you  in 
happy  solitude.  I  mean  that  there  is  for  you  the 
following  of  an  inward  leader,  —  a  slow  discrimina 
tion  that  there  is  for  each  a  Best  Counsel  which 
enjoins  the  fit  word  and  the  fit  act  for  every  moment. 
And  the  path  of  each,  pursued,  leads  to  greatness. 
How  grateful  to  find  in  man  or  woman  a  new  em 
phasis  of  their  own. 

Bat  if  the  first  rule  is  to  obey  your  native  bias,  to  j 
accept  that  work  for   which   you   were   inwardly  1 


294  GREATNESS. 

formed, — the  second  rule  is  concentration,  which 
doubles  its  force.  Thus  if  you  are  a  scholar,  be 
that.  The  same  laws  hold  for  you  as  for  the 
laborer.  The  shoemaker  makes  a  good  shoe  be 
cause  he  makes  nothing  else.  Let  the  student  mind 
his  own  charge  ;  sedulously  wait  every  morning  for 
the  news  concerning  the  structure  of  the  world 
which  the  spirit  will  give  him. 

No  way  has  been  found  for  making  heroism  easy, 
even  for  the  scholar.  Labor,  iron  labor,  is  for  him. 
The  world  was  created  as  an  audience  for  him  ;  the 
atoms  of  which  it  is  made  are  opportunities.  Read 
the  performance  of  Bentley,  of  Gibbon,  of  Cuvier, 
Geoffrey  St.  Hilaire,  Laplace.  "  He  can  toil  terri 
bly,"  said  Cecil  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  These  few 
words  sting  and  bite  and  lash  us  when  we  are  friv 
olous.  Let  us  get  out  of  the  way  of  their  blows  by 
making  them  true  of  ourselves.  There  is  so  much 
to  be  done  that  we  ought  to  begin  quickly  to  bestir 
ourselves.  This  day-labor  of  ours,  we  confess,  has 
hitherto  a  certain  emblematic  air,  like  the  annual 
ploughing  and  sowing  of  the  Emperor  of  China. 
Let  us  make  it  an  honest  sweat.  Let  the  scholar 
measure  his  valor  by  his  power  to  cope  with  intel 
lectual  giants.  Leave  others  to  count  votes  and 
calculate  stocks.  His  courage  is  to  weigh  Plato, 
judge  Laplace,  know  Newton,  Faraday,  judge  of 
Darwin,  criticise  Kant  and  Swedenborg,  and  on  all 


GREATNESS.  295 

these  arouse  the  central  courage  of  insight.  The 
scholar's  courage  should  be  as  terrible  as  the  Cid's, 
though  it  grow  out  of  spiritual  nature,  not  out  of 
brawn.  Nature,  when  she  adds  difficulty,  adds 
brain. 

With  this  respect  to  the  bias  of  the  individual 
mind  add,  what  is  consistent  with  it,  the  most  catho 
lic  receptivity  for  the  genius  of  others.  The  day  will 
come  when  no  badge,  uniform,  or  medal  will  be 
worn ;  when  the  eye,  which  carries  in  it  planetary 
influences  from  all  the  stars,  will  indicate  rank  fast 
enough  by  exerting  power.  For  it  is  true  that  the 
stratification  of  crusts  in  geology  is  not  more  pre 
cise  than  the  degrees  of  rank  in  minds.  A  man 
will  say  :  '  I  am  born  to  this  position  ;  I  must  take 
it,  and  neither  you  nor  I  can  help  or  hinder  me. 
Surely,  then,  I  need  not  fret  myself  to  guard  my 
own  dignity.'  The  great  man  loves  the  conversation 
or  the  book  that  convicts  him,  not  that  which 
soothes  or  flatters  him.  He  makes  himself  of  no 
reputation;  he  conceals  his  learning,  conceals  his 
charity.  For  the  highest  wisdom  does  not  concern 
itself  with  particular  men,  but  with  man  enamored 
with  the  law  and  the  Eternal  Source.  Say  with 
Antoninus,  "  If  the  picture  is  good,  who  cares  who 
made  it  ?  What  matters  it  by  whom  the  good  is 
done,  by  yourself  or  another  ?  "  If  it  is  the  truth, 
what  matters  who  said  it?  If  it  was  right,  what 


296  GREATNESS. 

signifies  who  did  it?  All  greatness  is  in  degree, 
and  there  is  more  above  than  below.  Where  were 
your  own  intellect,  if  greater  had  not  lived  ?  And 
do  you  know  what  the  right  meaning  of  Fame  is  ? 
It  is  that  sympathy,  rather  that  fine  element  by 
which  the  good  become  partners  of  the  greatness  of 
their  superiors. 

Extremes  meet,  and  there  is  no  better  example 
than  the  haughtiness  of  humility.  No  aristocrat,  no 
prince  born  to  the  purple,  can  begin  to  compare 
with  the  self-respect  of  the  saint.  Why  is  he  so 
lowly,  but  that  he  knows  that  he  can  well  afford  it, 
resting  011  the  largeness  of  God  in  him  ?  I  have 
read  in  an  old  book  that  Barcena  the  Jesuit  con 
fessed  to  another  of  his  order  that  when  the  Devil 
appeared  to  him  in  his  cell  one  night,  out  of  his 
profound  humility  he  rose  up  to  meet  him,  and 
prayed  him  to  sit  down  in  his  chair,  for  he  was 
more  worthy  to  sit  there  than  himself. 

Shall  I  tell  you  the  secret  of  the  true  scholar? 
It  is  this  :  Every  man  I  meet  is  my  master  in  some 
point,  and  in  that  I  learn  of  him.  The  populace 
will  say,  with  Home  Tooke,  "  If  you  would  be  pow 
erful,  pretend  to  be  powerful."  I  prefer  to  say, 
with  the  old  Hebrew  prophet,  "  Seekest  thou  great 
things  ?  —  seek  them  not ;  "  or,  what  was  said  of 
the  Spanish  prince,  "  The  more  you  took  from  him, 
the  greater  he  appeared,"  Plus  on  lui  ote,  plus  il 
est  grand. 


GREATNESS.  297 

Scintillations  of  greatness  appear  here  and  there 
in  men  of  unequal  character,  and  are  by  no  means 
confined  to  the  cultivated  and  so-called  moral  class. 
It  is  easy  to  draw  traits  from  Napoleon,  who  was 
not  generous  nor  just,  but  was  intellectual  and 
knew.lhe ..law. of  things.  Napoleon  commands  our 
respect  by  his  enormous  self-trust,  the  habit  of  see 
ing  with  his  own  eyes,  never  the  surface,  but  to  the 
heart  of  the  matter,  whether  it  was  a  road,  a  cannon, 
a  character,  an  officer,  or  a  king,  —  and  by  the  speed 
and  security  of  his  action  in  the  premises,  always 
new.  He  has  left  a  library  of  manuscripts,  a  mul 
titude  of  sayings,  every  one  of  widest  application. 
He  was  a  man  who  always  fell  on  his  feet.  When 
one  of  his  favorite  schemes  missed,  he  had  the  fac 
ulty  of  taking  up  his  genius,  as  he  said,  and  of 
carrying  it  somewhere  else.  "  Whatever  they  may 
tell  you,  believe  that  one  fights  with  cannon  as  with 
fists ;  when  once  the  fire  is  begun,  the  least  want  of 
ammunition  renders  what  you  have  done  already 
useless."  I  find  it  easy  to  translate  all  his  technics 
into  all  of  mine,  and  his  official  advices  are  to  me 
more  literary  and  philosophical  than  the  memoirs 
of  the  Academy.  His  advice  to  his  brother,  King- 
Joseph  of  Spain,  was :  "  I  have  only  one  counsel 
for  you,  —  Be  Master"  Depth  of  intellect  re-j 
lieves  even  the  ink  of  crime  with  a  fringe  of  light.  \ 
We  perhaps  look  on  its  crimes  as  experiments  of  a 


298  GREATNESS. 

universal  student ;  as  he  may  read  any  book  who 
reads  all  books,  and  as  the  English  judge  in  old 
times,  when  learning  was  rare,  forgave  a  culprit 
who  could  read  and  write.  It  is  difficult  to  find 
greatness  pure.  Well,  I  please  myself  with  its 
diffusion ;  to  find  a  spark  of  true  fire  amid  much 
corruption.  It  is  some  guaranty,  I  hope,  for  the 
health  of  the  soul  which  has  this  generous  blood, 
How  many  men,  detested  in  contemporary  hostile 
history,  of  whom,  now  that  the  mists  have  rolled 
away,  we  have  learned  to  correct  our  old  estimates, 
and  to  see  them  as,  on  the  whole,  instruments  of 
great  benefit.  Diderot  was  no  model,  but  unclean  as 
the  society  in  which  he  lived ;  yet  was  he  the  best- 
natured  man  in  France,  and  would  help  any  wretch 
at  a  pinch.  His  humanity  knew  no  bounds.  A 
poor  scribbler  who  had  written  a  lampoon  against 
him  and  wished  to  dedicate  it  to  a  pious  Due  d'- 
Orleans,  came  with  it  in  his  poverty  to  Diderot,  and 
Diderot,  pitying  the  creature,  wrote  the  dedication 
for  him,  and  so  raised  five-and-twenty  louis  to  save 
his  famishing  lampooner  alive. 

Meantime  we  hate  snivelling.  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  surpass  others  in  any  narrow  or  professional 
or  monkish  way.  We  like  the  natural  greatness  of 
health  and  wild  power.  I  confess  that  I  am  as 
much  taken  by  it  in  boys,  and  sometimes  in  people 
not  normal,  nor  educated,  nor  presentable,  nor 


GREATNESS.  299 

church-members,  —  even  in  persons  open  to  the  sus 
picion  of  irregular  and  immoral  living,  in  Bohe 
mians,  —  as  in  more  orderly  examples.  For  we  must 
remember  that  in  the  lives  of  soldiers,  sailors  and 
men  of  large  adventure,  many  of  the  stays  and 
guards  of  our  household  life  are  wanting,  and  yet 
the  opportunities  and  incentives  to  sublime  daring 
and  performance  are  often  close  at  hand.  We 
must  have  some  charity  for  the  sense  of  the  people, 
which  admires  natural  power,  and  will  elect  it  over 
virtuous  men  who  have  less.  It  has  this  excuse, 
that  natural  is  really  allied  to  moral  power,  and  may 
always  be  expected  to  approach  it  by  its  own  in 
stincts.  Intellect  at  least  is  not  stupid,  and  will  see 
the  force  of  morals  over  men,  if  it  does  not  itself 
obey.  Henry  VII.  of  England  was  a  wise  king. 
When  Gerald,  Earl  of  Kildare,  who  was  in  rebel 
lion  against  him,  was  brought  to  London,  and  ex 
amined  before  the  Privy  Council,  one  said,  "  All 
Ireland  cannot  govern  this  Earl."  "  Then  let  this 
Earl  govern  all  Ireland,"  replied  the  King. 

It  is  noted  of  some  scholars,  like  Swift  and  Gib 
bon  and  Donne,  that  they  pretended  to  vices  which 
they  had  not,  so  much  did  they  hate  hypocrisy. 
William  Blake  the  artist  frankly  says,  "I  never 
knew  a  bad  man  in  whom  there  was  not  something 
very  good."  Bret  Harte  has  pleased  himself  with 
noting  and  recording  the  sudden  virtue  blazing  in 


300  GREATNESS. 

the  wild  reprobates  of  the  ranches  and  mines   of 
California. 

Men  are  ennobled  by  morals  and  by  intellect; 
but  those  two  elements  know  each  other  and  always 
beckon  to  each  other,  until  at  last  they  meet  in  the 
man,  if  he  is  to  be  truly  great.  The  man  who  sells 
you  a  lamp  shows  you  that  the  flame  of  oil,  which 
contented  you  before,  casts  a  strong  shade  in  the 
path  of  the  petroleum  which  he  lights  behind  it ; 
and  this  again  casts  a  shadow  in  the  path  of  the 
electric  light.  So  does  intellect  when  brought  into 
the  presence  of  character  ;  character  puts  out  that 
light.  Goethe,  in  his  correspondence  with  his 
Grand  Duke  of  Weimar,  does  not  shine.  We  can 
see  that  the  Prince  had  the  advantage  of  the  Olym 
pian  genius.  It  is  more  plainly  seen  in  the  corre 
spondence  between  Voltaire  and  Frederick  of  Prus 
sia.  Voltaire  is  brilliant,  nimble,  and  various,  but 
Frederick  has  the  superior  tone.  But  it  is  curious 
that  Byron  writes  down  to  Scott ;  Scott  writes  up 
to  him.  The  Greeks  surpass  all  men  till  they  face 
the  Romans,  when  Roman  character  prevails  over 
Greek  genius.  Whilst  degrees  of  intellect  interest 
only  classes  of  men  who  pursue  the  same  studies,  as 
chemists  or  astronomers,  mathematicians  or  lin 
guists,  and  have  no  attraction  for  the  crowd,  there 
are  always  men  who  have  a  more  catholic  genius, 
are  really  great  as  men,  and  inspire  universal  en- 


GREATNESS.  301 

thusiasm.  A  great  style  of  hero  draws  equally  all 
classes,  all  the  extremes  of  society,  till  we  say  the 
very  dogs  believe  in  him.  We  have  had  such  ex 
amples  in  this  country,  in  Daniel  Webster,  Henry 
Clay,  and  the  seamen's  preacher,  Father  Taylor  ; 
in  England,  Charles  James  Fox ;  in  Scotland,  Rob 
ert  Burns ;  and  in  France,  though  it  is  less  intelli 
gible  to  us,  Voltaire.  Abraham  Lincoln  is  perhaps 
the  most  remarkable  example  of  this  class  that  we 
have  seen,  —  a  man  who  was  at  home  and  welcome 
with  the  humblest,  and  with  a  spirit  and  a  practical 
vein  in  the  times  of  terror  that  commanded  the  ad 
miration  of  the  wisest.  His  heart  was  as  great  as 
the  world,  but  there  was  no  room  in  it  to  hold  the 
memory  of  a  wrong. 

These  may  serve  as  local  examples  to  indicate  a 
magnetism  which  is  probably  known  better  and  finer 
to  each  scholar  in  the  little  Olympus  of  his  own  fa 
vorites,  and  which  makes  him  require  geniality  and 
humanity  in  his  heroes.  What  are  these  but  the 
promise  and  the  preparation  of  a  day  when  the  air 
of  the  world  shall  be  purified  by  nobler  society, 
when  the  measure  of  greatness  shall  be  usefulness 
in  the  highest  sense,  —  greatness  consisting  in  truth, 
reverence,  and  good- will  ? 

Life  is  made  of  illusions,  and  a  very  common  one 
is  the  opinion  you  hear  expressed  in  every  village : 
'  O  yes,  if  I  lived  in  New  York  or  Philadelphia, 


302  GREATNESS. 

Cambridge  or  New  Haven  or  Boston  or  Andover, 
there  might  be  fit  society  ;  but  it  happens  that  there 
are  no  fine  young  men,  no  superior  women  in  my 
town.'  You  may  hear  this  every  day ;  but  it  is  a 
shallow  remark.  Ah !  have  you  yet  to  learn  that 
the  eye  altering  alters  all ;  that  "  the  world  is  an 
echo  which  returns  to  each  of  us  what  we  say?" 
It  is  not  examples  of  greatness,  but  sensibility  to 
see  them,  that  is  wanting.  The  good  botanist  will 
find  flowers  between  the  street  pavements,  and  any 
man  filled  with  an  idea  or  a  purpose  will  find  ex 
amples  and  illustrations  and  coadjutors  wherever 
he  goes.  Wit  is  a  magnet  to  find  wit,  and  charac 
ter  to  find  character.  Do  you  not  know  that  peo 
ple  are  as  those  with  whom  they  converse  ?  And  if 
all  or  any  are  heavy  to  me,  that  fact  accuses  me. 
Why  complain,  as  if  a  man's  debt  to  his  inferiors 
were  not  at  least  equal  to  his  debt  to  his  superiors  ? 
If  men  were  equals,  the  waters  would  not  move  ; 
but  the  difference  of  level  which  makes  Niagara  a 
cataract,  makes  eloquence,  indignation,  poetry,  in 
him  who  finds  there  is  much  to  communicate.  With 
self-respect  then  there  must  be  in  the  aspirant  the 
strong  fellow-feeling,  the  humanity,  which  makes 
men  of  all  classes  warm  to  him  as  their  leader  and 
representative. 

We  are  thus  forced  to  express  our  instinct  of  the 
truth  by  exposing  the  failures  of  experience.     The 


GREATNESS.  303 

man  whom  we  have  not  seen,  in  whom  no  regard  of 
self  degraded  the  adorer  of  the  laws,  —  who  by  gov 
erning  himself  governed  others ;  sportive  in  man 
ner,  but  inexorable  in  act ;  who  sees  longevity  in 
his  cause ;  whose  aim  is  always  distinct  to  him  ; 
who  is  suffered  to  be  himself  in  society  |  who  car 
ries  fate  in  his  eye  ;  —  he  it  is  whom  we  seek,  en 
couraged  in  every  good  hour  that  here  or  hereafter 
he  shall  be  found. 


IMMOKTALITY. 


IMMORTALITY. 


IN  the  year  626  of  our  era,  when  Edwin,  the 
Anglo-Saxon  king,  was  deliberating  on  receiving 
the  Christian  missionaries,  one  of  his  nobles  said 
to  him :  "  The  present  life  of  man,  O  king,  com 
pared  with  that  space  of  time  beyond,  of  which  we 
have  no  certainty,  reminds  me  of  one  of  your  win 
ter  feasts,  where  you  sit  with  your  generals  and 
ministers.  The  hearth  blazes  in  the  middle  and  a 
grateful  heat  is  spread  around,  while  storms  of  rain 
and  snow  are  raging  without.  Driven  by  the  chill 
ing  tempest,  a  little  sparrow  enters  at  one  door  and 
flies  delighted  around  us  till  it  departs  through  the 
other.  Whilst  it  stays  in  our  mansion  it  feels  not 
the  winter  storm  ;  but  when  this  short  moment  of 
happiness  has  been  enjoyed,  it  is  forced  again  into 
the  same  dreary  tempest  from  which  it  had  escaped, 
and  we  behold  it  no  more.  Such  is  the  life  of  man, 
and  we  are  as  ignorant  of  the  state  which  preceded 
our  present  existence  as  of  that  which  will  follow 
it.  Things  being  so,  I  feel  that  if  this  new  faith 
can  give  us  more  certainty,  it  deserves  to  be  re 
ceived.  39 


308  IMMORTALITY. 

In  the  first  records  of  a  nation  in  any  degree 
thoughtful  and  cultivated,  some  belief  in  the  life 
beyond  life  would  of  course  be  suggested.  The 
Egyptian  people  furnish  us  the  earliest  details  of  an 
established  civilization,  and  I  read  in  the  second 
book  of  Herodotus  this  memorable  sentence  :  "  The 
Egyptians  are  the  first  of  mankind  who  have  af 
firmed  the  immortality  of  the  soul."  Nor  do  I  read 
it  with  less  interest  that  the  historian  connects  it 
presently  with  the  doctrine  of  metempsychosis ;  for 
I  know  well  that  where  this  belief  once  existed  it 
would  necessarily  take  a  base  form  for  the  savage 
and  a  pure  form  for  the  wise  ;  —  so  that  I  only  look 
on  the  counterfeit  as  a  proof  that  the  genuine  faith 
had  been  there.  The  credence  of  men,  more  than 
race  or  climate,  makes  their  manners  and  customs ; 
and  the  history  of  religion  may  be  read  in  the 
forms  of  sepulture.  There  never  was  a  time  when 
the  doctrine  of  a  future  life  was  not  held.  Morals 
must  be  enjoined,  but  among  rude  men  moral  judg 
ments  were  rudely  figured  under  the  forms  of  dogs 
and  whips,  or  of  an  easier  and  more  plentiful  life 
after  death.  And  as  the  savage  could  not  detach 
in  his  mind  the  life  of  the  soul  from  the  body,  he 
took  great  care  for  his  body.  Thus  the  whole  life 
of  man  in  the  first  ages  was  ponderously  deter 
mined  011  death ;  and,  as  we  know,  the  polity  of  the 
Egyptians,  the  by-laws  of  towns,  of  streets  and 


IMMORTALITY.  309 

houses,  respected  burial.  It  made  every  man  an 
undertaker,  and  the  priesthood  a  senate  of  sextons. 
Every  palace  was  a  door  to  a  pyramid  :  a  king  or 
rich  man  was  a  pyramidaire.  The  labor  of  races 
was  spenfon  the  excavation  of  catacombs.  The 
chief  end  of  man  being  to  be  buried  well,  the  arts 
most  in  request  were  masonry  and  embalming,  to 
give  imperishability  to  the  corpse. 

The  Greek,  with  his  perfect  senses  and  percep 
tions,  had  quite  another  philosophy,  He  loved  life 
and  delighted  in  beauty.  He  set  his  wit  and  taste, 
like  elastic  gas,  under  these  mountains  of  stone, 
and  lifted  them.  He  drove  away  the  embalmers  ; 
he  built  no  more  of  those  doleful  mountainous 
tombs.  He  adorned  death,  brought  wreaths  of 
parsley  and  laurel ;  made  it  bright  with  games  of 
strength  and  skill,  and  chariot-races.  He  looked  at 
death  only  as  the  distributor  of  imperishable  glory. 
Nothing  can  excel  the  beauty  of  his  sarcophagus. 
He  carried  his  arts  to  Rome,  and  built  his  beautiful 
tombs  at  Pompeii.  The  poet  Shelley  says  of  these 
delicately  carved  white  marble  cells,  "They  seem 
not  so  much  hiding  places  of  that  which  must  de 
cay,  as  voluptuous  chambers  for  immortal  spirits.  " 
In  the  same  spirit  the  modern  Greeks,  in  their 
songs,  ask  that  they  may  be  buried  where  the  sun 
can  see  them,  and  that  a  little  window  may  be  cut 
in  the  sepulchre,  from  which  the  swallow  might  be 
seen  when  it  comes  back  in  the  spring. 


310  IMMORTALITY. 

Christianity  brought  a  new  wisdom.  But  learn 
ing  depends  on  the  learner.  No  more  truth  can  be 
conveyed  than  the  popular  mind  can  bear,  and  the 
barbarians  who  received  the  cross  took  the  doctrine 
of  the  resurrection  as  the  Egyptians  took  it.  It 
was  an  affair  of  the  body,  and  narrowed  again  by 
the  fury  of  sect  ;  so  that  grounds  were  sprinkled 
with  holy  water  to  receive  only  orthodox  dust ;  and 
to  keep  the  body  still  more  sacredly  safe  for  resur 
rection,  it  was  put  into  the  walls  of  the  church  ; 
and  the  churches  of  Europe  are  really  sepulchres. 
I  read  at  Melrose  Abbey  the  inscription  on  the 
ruined  gate :  — 

"  The  Earth  goes  on  the  Earth  glittering  with  gold  ; 
The  Earth  goes  to  the  Earth  sooner  than  it  wold  ; 
The  Earth  builds  on  the  Earth  castles  and  towers  ; 
The  Earth  says  to  the  Earth,  All  this  is  ours.  " 

Meantime  the  true  disciples  saw,  through  the  letter, 
the  doctrine  of  eternity,  which  dissolved  the  poor 
corpse  and  nature  also,  and  gave  grandeur  to  the 
passing  hour.  The  most  remarkable  step  in  the  re 
ligious  history  of  recent  ages  is  that  made  by  the 
genius  of  Swedenborg,  who  described  the  moral  fac 
ulties  and  affections  of  man,  with  the  hard  realism 
of  an  astronomer  describing  the  suns  and  planets 
of  our  system,  and  explained  his  opinion  of  the  his 
tory  and  destiny  of  souls  in  a  narrative  form,  as  of 
one  who  had  gone  in  a  trance  into  the  society  of 


IMMORTALITY.  311 

other  worlds.  Swedenborg  described  an  intelligi 
ble  heaven,  by  continuing  the  like  employments  in 
the  like  circumstances  as  those  we  know ;  men 
in  societies,  in  houses,  towns,  trades,  entertain 
ments  ;  Continuations  of  our  earthly  experience. 
We  shall  pass  to  the  future  existence  as  we  enter 
into  an  agreeable  dream.  All  nature  will  accom- 

O 

pany  us  there.  Milton  anticipated  the  leading 
thought  of  Swedenborg,  when  he  wrote,  in  "  Para 
dise  Lost,"  — 

"  What  if  Earth 

Be  but  the  shadow  of  Heaven,  and  things  therein 
Each  to  the  other  like  more  than  on  earth  is  thought  ?  " 

Swedenborg  had  a  vast  genius  and  announced 
many  things  true  and  admirable,  though  always 
clothed  in  somewhat  sad  and  Stygian  colors. 
These  truths,  passing  out  of  his  system  into  gen 
eral  circulation,  are  now  met  with  every  day, 
qualifying  the  views  and  creeds  of  all  churches 
and  of  men  of  no  church.  And  I  think  we  are 
all  aware  of  a  revolution  in  opinion.  Sixty  years 
ago,  the  books  read,  the  sermons  and  prayers 
heard,  the  habits  of  thought  of  religious  persons, 
were  all  directed  on  death.  All  were  under  the 
shadow  of  Calvinism  and  of  the  Roman  Cath 
olic  purgatory,  and  death  was  dreadful.  The  em 
phasis  of  all  the  good  books  given  to  young  people 
was  on  death.  We  were  all  tauq-ht  that  we  were 


312  IMMORTALITY. 

born  to  die ;  and  over  that,  all  the  terrors  that 
theology  could  gather  from  savage  nations  were 
added  to  increase  the  gloom.  A  great  change 
has  occurred.  Death  is  seen  as  a  natural  event, 
and  is  met  with  firmness.  "A  wise  man  in  our 
time  caused  to  be  written  on  his  tomb,  "  Think 
on  living."  That  inscription  describes  a  progress 
in  opinion.  Cease  from  this  antedating  of  your 
experience.  Sufficient  to  to-day  are  the  duties  of 
to-day.  Don't  waste  life  in  doubts  and  fears ; 
spend  yourself  on  the  work  before  you,  well  as 
sured  that  the  right  performance  of  this  hour's 
duties  will  be  the  best  preparation  for  the  hours 
or  ages  that  follow  it: 

"  The  name  of  death  was  never  terrible 
To  him  that  knew  to  live." 

A  man  of  thought  is  willing  to  die,  willing  to 
live  ;  I  suppose  because  he  has  seen  the  thread 
on  which  the  beads  are  strung,  and  perceived  that 
it  reaches  up  and  down,  existing  quite  indepen 
dently  of  the  present  illusions.  A  man  of  affairs 
is  afraid  to  die,  is  pestered  with  terrors,  because 
he  has  not  this  vision,  and  is  the  victim  of  those 
who  have  moulded  the  religious  doctrines  into 
some  neat  and  plausible  system,  as  Calvinism, 
Romanism,  or  Swedenborgism,  for  household  use. 
It  is  the  fear  of  the  young  bird  to  trust  its 
wings.  The  experiences  of  the  soul  will  fast  out- 


IMMORTALITY.  313 

grow  this  alarm.  The  saying  of  Marcus  Anto 
ninus  it  were  hard  to  mend :  "  It  is  well  to  die 
if  there  be  gods,  and  sad  to  live  if  there  be 
none."  I  think  all  sound  minds  rest  on  a  cer 
tain  preliminary  conviction,  namely,  that  if  it  be 
best  that  conscious  personal  life  shall  continue,  it 
will  continue ;  if  not  best,  then  it  will  not :  and 
we,  if  we  saw  the  whole,  should  of  course  see 
that  it  was  better  so.  Schiller  said, "  What  is  so 
universal  as  death,  must  be  benefit. "  A  friend 
of  Michel  Angelo  saying  to  him  that  his  con 
stant  labor  for  art  must  make  him  think  of  death 
with  regret,  —  "  By  no  means,"  he  said  ;  "  for  if 
life  be  a  pleasure,  yet  since  death  also  is  sent  by 
the  hand  of  the  same  Master,  neither  should  that 
displease  us."  Plutarch,  in  Greece,  has  a  deep 
faith  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Divine  Providence 
and  that  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul  rest  on 
one  and  the  same  basis.  Hear  the  opinion  of 
Montesquieu:  "If  the  immortality  of  the  soul 
were  an  error,  I  should  be  sorry  not  to  believe 
it.  I  avow  that  I  am  not  so  humble  as  the  athe 
ist  ;  I  know  not  how  they  think,  but  for  me,  I 
do  not  wish  to  exchange  the  idea  of  immortality 
against  that  of  the  beatitude  of  one  day.  I  de 
light  in  believing  myself  as  immortal  as  God 
himself.  Independently  of  revealed  ideas,  meta 
physical  ideas  give  me  a  vigorous  hope  of  my 


314  IMMORTALITY. 

eternal  well-being,  which  I  would  never  re 
nounce."  l 

I  was  lately  told  of  young  children  who  feel  a 
certain  terror  at  the  assurance  of  life  without 
end.  "  What !  will  it  never  stop  ? "  the  child 
said  ;  "  what !  never  die  ?  never,  never  ?  It  makes 
me  feel  so  tired."  And  I  have  in  mind  the  ex 
pression  of  an  older  believer,  who  once  said  to 
me,  "The  thought  that  this  frail  being  is  never 
to  end  is  so  overwhelming  that  my  only  shelter 
is  God's  presence."  This  disquietude  only  marks 
the  transition.  The  healthy  state  of  mind  is  the 
love  of  life.  What  is  so  good,  let  it  endure. 

1  find  that  what  is  called  great  and  powerful 
life  — the  administration  of  large  affairs,  in  com 
merce,  in  the  courts,  in  the  state,  —  is  prone  to 
develop  narrow  and  special  talent ;  but,  unless 
combined  with  a  certain  contemplative  turn,  a 
taste  for  abstract  truth,  for  the  moral  laws,  does 
not  build  up  faith  or  lead  to  content.  There  is 
a  profound  melancholy  at  the  base  of  men  of 
active  and  powerful  talent,  seldom  suspected. 
Many  years  ago,  there  were  two  men  in  the  United 
States  Senate,  both  of  whom  are  now  dead. 
I  have  seen  them  both ;  one  of  them  I  person 
ally  knew.  Both  were  men  of  distinction  and 
took  an  active  part  in  the  politics  of  their  day 
1  Pensees  Diverses,  p.  223. 


IMMORTALITY.  315 

and  generation.  They  were  men  of  intellect,  and 
one  of  them,  at  a  later  period,  gave  to  a  friend 
this  anecdote.  He  said  that  when  he  entered  the 
Senate  he  became  in  a  short  time  intimate  with 
one  of  his  colleagues,  and,  though  attentive  enough 
to  the  routine  of  public  duty,  they  daily  returned 
to  each  other,  and  spent  much  time  in  conversa 
tion  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  other 
intellectual  questions,  and  cared  for  little  else. 
When  my  friend  at  last  left  Congress,  they  parted, 
his  colleague  remaining  there ;  and,  as  their  homes 
were  widely  distant  from  each  other,  it  chanced 
that  he  never  met  him  again  until,  twenty-five 
years  afterwards,  they  saw  each  other  through 
open  doors  at  a  distance  in  a  crowded  reception 
at  the  President's  house  in  Washington.  Slowly 
they  advanced  towards  each  other  as  they  could, 
through  the  brilliant  company,  and  at  last  met,  — 
said  nothing,  but  shook  hands  long  and  cordially. 
At  last  his  friend  said,  "  Any  light,  Albert  ? " 
"  None,  "  replied  Albert.  "  Any  light,  Lewis  ?  " 
"  None,  "  replied  he.  They  looked  in  each  other's 
eyes  silently,  gave  one  more  shake  each  to  the 
hand  he  held,  and  thus  parted  for  the  last  time. 
Now  I  should  say  that  the  impulse  which  drew 
these  minds  to  this  inquiry  through  so  many  years 
was  a  better  affirmative  evidence  than  their  fail 
ure  to  find  a  confirmation  was  negative.  I  ought 


316 


IMMORTALITY. 


>/     i 


to  add  that,  though  men  of  good  minds,  they  were 
both  pretty  strong  materialist"  in  their  daily  aims 
and  way  of  life.  I  admit  that  you  shall  find  a 
good  deal  of  skepticism  in  the  streets  and  hotels 
and  places  of  coarse  amusement.  But  that  is 
only  to  say  that  the  practical  faculties  are  faster 
developed  than  the  spiritual.  Where  there  is  de 
pravity  there  is  a  slaughter-house  style  of  think 
ing.  One  argument  of  future  life  is  the  recoil 
of  the  mind  in  such  company,  —  our  pain  at  every 
skeptical  statement.  The  skeptic  affirms  that  the 
universe  is  a  nest  of  boxes  with  nothing  in  the 
last  box.  All  laughter  at  man  is  bitter,  and  puts 
us  out  of  good  activity.  When  Bonaparte  in 
sisted  that  the  heart  is  one  of  the  entrails,  that 
it  is  the  pit  of  the  stomach  that  moves  the 
world,  —  do  we  thank  him  for  the  gracious  in 
struction  ?  Our  disgust  is  the  protest  of  human 
nature  against  a  lie. 

The  ground  of  hope  is  in  the  infinity  of  the 
world ;  which  infinity  reappears  in  every  particle, 
the  powers  of  all  society  in  every  individual,  and 
of  all  mind  in  every  mind.  I  know  against  all  ap 
pearances  that  the  universe  can  receive  no  detri 
ment  ;  that  there  is  a  remedy  for  every  wrong  and 
a  satisfaction  for  every  soul.  Here  is  this  wonder 
ful  thought.  But  whence  came  it  ?  Who  put  it  in 
the  mind  ?  It  was  not  I,  it  was  not  you ;  it  is 


IMMORTALITY.  317 

elemental,  —  belongs  to  thought  and  virtue,  and 
whenever  we  have  either  we  see  the  beams  of  this 
light.  When  the  Master  of  the  universe  has  points 
to  carry  in  his  government  he  impresses  his  will 
in  the  structure  of  minds. 

But  proceeding  to  the  enumeration  of  the  few 
simple  elements  of  the  natural  faith,  the  first  fact 
that  strikes  us  is  our  delight  in  permanence.  All 
great  natures  are  lovers  of  stability  and  perma 
nence,  as  the  type  of  the  Eternal.  After  science 
begins,  belief  of  permanence  must  follow  in  a 
healthy  mind.  Things  so  attractive,  designs  so 
wise,  the  secret  workman  so  transcendently  skilful 
that  it  tasks  successive  generations  of  observers 
only  to  find  out,  part  with  part,  the  delicate  con 
trivance  and  adjustment  of  a  weed,  of  a  moss,  to 
its  wants,  growth,  and  perpetuation ;  all  these  ad 
justments  becoming  perfectly  intelligible  to  our 
study,  —  and  the  contriver  of  it  ail  forever  hidden! 
To  breathe,  to  §leep,  is  wonderful.  But  never  to 
know  the  Cause,  the  Giver,  and  infer  his  character 
and  will!  Of  what  import  this  vacant  sky,  these 
puffing  elements,  these  insignificant  lives  full  of  self 
ish  loves  and  quarrels  and  ennui  ?  Everything  is 
prospective,  and  man  is  to  live  hereafter.  That  the 
world  is  for  his  education  is  the  only  sane  solution 
of  the  enigma.  And  I  think  that  the  naturalist 
works  not  for  himself,  but  for  the  believing  mind, 


318  IMMORTALITY. 

which  turns  his  discoveries  to  revelations,  receives 
them  as  private  tokens  of  the  grand  good-will  of  the 
Creator. 

The  mind  delights  in  immense  time  ;  delights  in 
rocks,  in  metals,  in  mountain-chains,  and  in  the  evi 
dence  of  vast  geologic  periods  which  these  give ;  in 
the  age  of  trees,  say  of  the  Sequoias,  a  few  of  which 
will  span  the  whole  history  of  mankind  ;  in  the  noble 
toughness  and  imperishableness  of  the  palm-tree, 
which  thrives  under  abuse  ;  delights  in  architecture, 
whose  building  lasts  so  long,  —  "A  house,"  says 
Ruskin,  "  is  not  in  its  prime  until  it  is  five  hundred 
years  old,"  —  and  here  are  the  Pyramids,  which 
have  as  many  thousands,  and  cromlechs  and  earth- 
mounds  much  older  than  these. 

"We  delight  in  stability,  and  really  are  interested 
in  nothing  that  ends.  What  lasts  a  century  pleases 
us  in  comparison  with  what  lasts  an  hour.  But  a 
century,  when  we  have  once  made  it  familiar  and 
compared  it  with  a  true  antiquity,  looks  dwarfish  and 
recent ;  and  it  does  not  help  the  matter  adding  num 
bers,  if  we  see  that  it  has  an  end,  which  it  will 
reach  just  as  surely  as  the  shortest.  A  candle  a 
mile  long  or  a  hundred  miles  long  does  not  help  the 
imagination ;  only  a  self -feeding  fire,  an  inextin 
guishable  lamp,  like  the  sun  and  the  star,  that  we 
have  not  yet  found  date  and  origin  for.  But  the 
nebular  theory  threatens  their  duration  also,  be- 


IMMORTALITY.  319 

reaves  them  of  this  glory,  and  will  make  a  shift  to 
eke  out  a  sort  of  eternity  by  succession,  as  plants 
and  animals  do. 

And  what  are  these  delights  in  the  vast  and  per 
manent  and  strong,  but  approximations  and  resem 
blances  of  what  is  entire  and  sufficing,  creative  and 
self-sustaining  life  ?  For  the  Creator  keeps  his 
word  with  us.  These  long-lived  or  long-enduring 
objects  are  to  us,  as  we  see  them,  only  symbols  of 
somewhat  in  us  far  longer-lived.  Our  passions,  our 
endeavors,  have  something  ridiculous  and  mocking, 
if  we  come  to  so  hasty  an  end.  If  not  to  be,  how 
like  the  bells  of  a  fool  is  the  trump  of  fame  !  Na 
ture  does  not,  like  the  Empress  Anne  of  Russia,  call 
together  all  the  architectural  genius  of  the  Empire 
to  build  and  finish  and  furnish  a  palace  of  snow,  to 
melt  again  to  water  in  the  first  thaw.  Will  you, 
with  vast  cost  and  pains,  educate  your  children  to 
be  adepts  in  their  several  arts,  and,  as  soon  as  they 
are  ready  to  produce  a  masterpiece,  call  out  a  file 
of  soldiers  to  shoot  them  down  ?  We  must  infer 
our  destiny  from  the  preparation.  We  are  driven 
by  instinct  to  hive  innumerable  experiences  which 
are  of  no  visible  value,  and  we  may  revolve  through 
many  lives  before  we  shall  assimilate  or  exhaust 
them.  Now  there  is  nothing  in  nature  capricious, 
or  whimsical,  or  accidental,  or  unsupporte.d.  Na 
ture  never  moves  by  jumps,  but  always  in  steady 


320  IMMORTALITY. 

and  supported  advances.  The  implanting  of  a  de 
sire  indicates  that  the  gratification  of  that  desire  is 
in  the  constitution  of  the  creature  that  feels  it ;  the 
wish  for  food,  the  wish  for  motion,  the  wish  for 
sleep,  for  society,  for  knowledge,  are  not  random 
whims,  but  grounded  in  the  structure  of  the  crea 
ture,  and  meant  to  be  satisfied  by  food,  by  motion, 
by  sleep,  by  society,  by  knowledge.  If  there  is  the 
desire  to  live,  and  in  larger  sphere,  with  more 
knowledge  and  power,  it  is  because  life  and  knowl 
edge  and.  power  are  good  for  us,  and  we  are  the  nat 
ural  depositaries  of  these  gifts.  The  love  of  life  is 
out  of  all  proportion  to  the  value  set  on  a  single 
day,  and  seems  to  indicate,  like  all  our  other  exper 
iences,  a  conviction  of  immense  resources  and  possi 
bilities  proper  to  us,  on  which  we  have  never  drawn. 
All  the  comfort  I  have  found  teaches  me  to  con 
fide  that  I  shall  not  have  less  in  times  and  places 
that  I  do  not  yet  know.  I  have  known  admirable 
persons,  without  feeling  that  they  exhaust  the  pos 
sibilities  of  virtue  and  talent.  I  have  seen  what 
glories  of  climate,  of  summer  mornings  and  even 
ings,  of  midnight  sky ;  I  have  enjoyed  the  bene 
fits  of  all  this  complex  machinery  of  arts  and 
civilization,  and  its  results  of  comfort.  The  good 
Power  can  easily  provide  me  millions  more  as  good. 
Shall  I  hold  on  with  both  hands  to  every  paltry 
possession  ?  All  I  have  seen  teaches  me  to  trust 


IMMORTALITY.  321 

the  Creator  for  all  I  have  not  seen.  Whatever  it 
be  which  the  great  Providence  prepares  for  us,  it 
must  be  something  large  and  generous,  and  in  the 
great  style  of  his  works.  The  future  must  be  up 
to  the  style  of  our  faculties,  —  of  memory,  of  hope, 
of  imagination,  of  reason.  I  have  a  house,  a  closet 
which  holds  my  books,  a  table,  a  garden,  a  field : 
are  these,  any  or  all,  a  reason  for  refusing  the  aii- 
gel  who  beckons  me  away,  —  as  if  there  were  no 
room  or  skill  elsewhere  that  could  reproduce  for  me 
as  my  like  or  my  enlarging  wants  may  require? 
We  wish  to  live  for  what  is  great,  not  for  what  is 
mean.  I  do  not  wish  to  live  for  the  sake  of  my 
warm  house,  my  orchard,  or  my  pictures.  I  do  not 
wish  to  live  to  wear  out  my  boots. 

As  a  hint  of  endless  being,  wre  may  rank  that 
novelty  which  perpetually  attends  life.  The  soul 
does  not  age  with  the  body.  On  the  borders  of  the 
grave,  the  wise  man  looks  forward  with  equal  elas 
ticity  of  mind,  or  hope ;  and  why  not,  after  millions 
of  years,  on  the  verge  of  still  newer* existence?  — 
for  it  is  the  nature  of  intelligent  beings  to  be  for 
ever  new  to  life.  Most  men  are  insolvent,  or 
promise  by  their  countenance  and  conversation  and 
by  their  early  endeavor  much  more  than  they  ever 
perform,  —  suggesting  a  design  still  to  be  carried 
out ;  the  man  must  have  new  motives,  new  com 
panions,  new  condition,  and  another  term.  Frank- 

VOL.  VIII.  21 


322  IMMORTALITY. 

lin  said,  "  Life  is  rather  a  state  of  embryo,  a  prepa 
ration  for  life.  A  man  is  not  completely  born  until 
he  has  passed  through  death."  Every  really  able 
man,  in  whatever  direction  he  work,  —  a  man  of 
large  affairs,  an  inventor,  a  statesman,  an  orator,  a 
poet,  a  painter,  —  if  you  talk  sincerely  with  him, 
considers  his  work,  however  much  admired,  as  far 
short  of  what  it  should  be.  What  is  this  Better, 
this  flying  Ideal,  but  the  perpetual  promise  of  his 
Creator  ? 

The  fable  of  the  Wandering  Jew  is  agreeable  to 
men,  because  they  \vant  more  time  and  land  in 
which  to  execute  their  thoughts.  But  a  higher 
poetic  use  must  be  made  of  the  legend.  Take  us 
as  we  are,  with  our  experience,  and  transfer  us  to  a 
new  planet,  and  let  us  digest  for  its  inhabitants 
what  we  could  of  the  wisdom  of  this.  After  we 
ha.ve  found  our  depth  there,  and  assimilated  what 
we  could  of  the  new  experience,  transfer  us  to  a  new 
scene.  In  each  transfer  we  shall  have  acquired,  by 
seeing  them  at  a  distance,  a  new  mastery  of  the  old 
thoughts,  in  which  we  were  too  much  immersed. 
In  short,  all  our  intellectual  action,  not  promises 
but  bestows  a  feeling  of  absolute  existence.  We 
are  taken  out  of  time  and  breathe  a  purer  air.  I 
know  not  whence  we  draw  the  assurance  of  pro 
longed  life,  of  a  life  which  shoots  that  gulf  we  call 
death  and  takes  hold  of  what  is  real  and  abiding, 


IMMORTALITY.  323 

by  so  many  claims  as  from  our  intellectual  history. 
Salt  is  a  good  preserver ;  cold  is  :  but  a  truth  cures 
the  taint  of  mortality  better,  and  "  preserves  from 
harm  until  another  period."  A  sort  of  absoluteness 
attends  all  perception  of  truth,  —  no  smell  of  age, 
no  hint  of  corruption.  It  is  self-sufficing,  sound, 
entire. 

Lord  Bacon  said :  "  Some  of  the  philosophers  who 
were  least  divine  denied  generally  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  yet  came  to  this  point,  that  whatsoever 
motions  the  spirit  of  man  could  act  and  perform 
without  the  organs  of  the  body,  might  remain  after 
death ;  which  were  only  those  of  the  understand 
ing,  and  not  of  the  affections  ;  so  immortal  and 
incorruptible  a  thing  did  knowledge  seem  to  them 
to  be."  And  Van  Helmont,  the  philosopher  of 
Holland,  drew  his  sufficient  proof  purely  from  the 
action  of  the  intellect.  "  It  is  my  greatest  desire," 
he  said,  "  that  it  might  be  granted  unto  atheists  to 
have  tasted,  at  least  but  one  only  moment,  what  it 
is  intellectually  to  understand ;  whereby  they  may 
feel  the  immortality  of  the  mind,  as  it  were  by 
touching."  A  farmer,  a  laborer,  a  mechanic,  is 
driven  by  his  work  all  day,  but  it  ends  at  night ;  it 
has  an  end.  But,  as  far  as  the  mechanic  or  farmer 
is  also  a  scholar  or  thinker,  his  work  has  no  end. 
That  which  he  has  learned  is  that  there  is  much 
more  to  be  learned.  The  wiser  he  is,  he  feels  only 


324  IMMORTALITY. 

the  more  his  incompetence.  "  What  we  know  is 
a  point  to  what  we  do  not  know."  A  thousand 
years,  —  tenfold,  a  hundredfold  his  faculties,  would 
not  suffice.  The  demands  of  his  task  are  such  that 
it  becomes  omnipresent.  He  studies  in  his  walking, 
at  his  meals,  in  his  amusements,  even  in  his  sleep. 
Montesquieu  said,  "  The  love  of  study  is  in  us  al 
most  the  only  eternal  passion.  All  the  others  quit 
us  in  proportion  as  this  miserable  machine  which 
holds  them  approaches  its  ruin."  "  Art  is  long," 
says  the  thinker,  "  and  life  is  short."  He  is  but  as 
a  fly  or  a  worm  to  this  mountain,  this  continent, 
which  his  thoughts  inhabit.  It  is  a  perception 
that  comes  by  the  activity  of  the  intellect ;  never  to 
the  lazy  or  rusty  mind.  Courage  comes  naturally 
to  those  who  have  the  habit  of  facing  labor  and 
danger,  and  who  therefore  know  the  power  of  their 
arms  and  bodies ;  and  courage  or  confidence  in  the 
mind  comes  to  those  who  know  by  use  its  wonder 
ful  forces  and  inspirations  and  returns.  Belief  in 
its  future  is  a  reward  kept  only  for  those  who  use 
it.  "  To  me,"  said  Goethe,  "  the  eternal  existence 
of  my  soul  is  proved  from  my  idea  of  activity.  If 
I  work  incessantly  till  my  death,  nature  is  bound  to 
give  me  another  form  of  existence,  when  the  pres 
ent  can  no  longer  sustain  my  spirit." 

It  is  a  proverb  of  the  world  that  good-will  makes 
intelligence,  that  goodness  itself  is  an  eye ;  and  the 


IMMORTALITY.  325 

one  doctrine  in  which  all  religions  agree  is  that 
new  light  is  added  to  the  mind  in  proportion  as  it 
uses  that  which  it  has.  "  He  that  doeth  the  will 
of  God  abideth  forever."  Ignorant  people  con 
found  reverence  for  the  intuitions  with  egotism. 
There  is  no  confusion  in  the  things  themselves. 
The  health  of  the  mind  consists  in  the  perception  of 
law.  Its  dignity  consists  in  being  under  the  law. 
Its  goodness  is  the  most  generous  extension  of  our 
private  interests  to  the  dignity  and  generosity  of 
ideas.  Nothing  seems  to  me  so  excellent  as  a  be 
lief  in  the  laws.  It  communicates  nobleness,  and, 
as  it  were,  an  asylum  in  temples  to  the  loyal  soul. 

I  confess  that  everything  connected  with  our 
personality  fails.  Nature  never  spares  the  indi 
vidual  ;  we  are  always  balked  of  a  complete  suc 
cess  :  no  prosperity  is  promised  to  our  self-esteem. 
We  have  our  indemnity  only  in  the  moral  and  in 
tellectual  reality  to  which  we  aspire.  That  is  im 
mortal,  and  we  only  through  that.  The  soul  stipu 
lates  for  no  private  good.  That  which  is  private 
I  see  not  to  be  good.  "  If  truth  live,  I  live  ;  if 
justice  live,  I  live,"  said  one  of  the  old  saints,  "  and 
these  by  any  man's  suffering  are  enlarged  and  en 
throned." 

The  moral  sentiment  measures  itself  by  sacrifice. 
It  risks  or  ruins  property,  health,  life  itself,  without 
hesitation,  for  its  thought,  and  all  men  justify  the 


326  IMMORTALITY. 

man  by  their  praise  for  this  act.  And  Mahomet  in 
the  same  mind  declared,  "  Not  dead  but  living  ye 
are  to  account  all  those  who  are  slain  in  the  way  of 
God." 

On  these  grounds  I  think  that  wherever  man 
ripens,  this  audacious  belief  presently  appears, — 
in  the  savage,  savagely ;  in  the  good,  purely.  As 
soon  as  thought  is  exercised,  this  belief  is  inevita 
ble  ;  as  soon  as  virtue  glows,  this  belief  confirms 
itself.  It  is  a  kind  of  summary  or  completion  of 
man.  It  cannot  rest  on  a  legend  ;  it  cannot  be 
quoted  from  one  to  another ;  it  must  have  the  as 
surance  of  a  man's  faculties  that  they  can  fill  a 
larger  theatre  and  a  longer  term  than  nature  here 
allows  him.  Goethe  said  :  "  It  is  to  a  thinking  be 
ing  quite  impossible  to  think  himself  non-existent, 
ceasing  to  think  and  live ;  so  far  does  every  one 
carry  in  himself  the  proof  of  immortality,  and  quite 
spontaneously.  But  so  soon  as  the  man  will  be 
objective  and  go  out  of  himself,  so  soon  as  he  dog 
matically  will  grasp  a  personal  duration  to  bolster 
up  in  cockney  fashion  that  inward  assurance,  he  is 
lost  in  contradiction."  The  doctrine  is  not  senti 
mental,  but  is  grounded  in  the  necessities  and 
forces  we  possess.  Nothing  will  hold  but  that 
which  we  must  be  and  must  do  :  — 

"  Man's  heart  the  Almighty  to  the  Future  set 
By  secret  but  inviolable  springs." 


IMMORTALITY.  327 

The  revelation  that  is  true  is  written  on  the  palms 
of  the  hands,  the  thought  of  our  mind,  the  desire 
of  our  heart,  or  nowhere.  My  idea  of  heaven  is 
that  there  is  no  melodrama  in  it  at  all ;  that  it  is 
wholly  real.  Here  is  the  emphasis  of  conscience 
and  experience ;  this  is  no  speculation,  but  the 
most  practical  of  doctrines.  Do  you  think  that 
the  eternal  chain  of  cause  and  effect  which  per 
vades  nature,  which  threads  the  globes  as  beads  on 
a  string,  leaves  this  out  of  its  circuit,  —  leaves  out 
this  desire  of  God  and  men  as  a  waif  and  a  caprice, 
altogether  'cheap  and  common,  and  falling  without 
reason  or  merit  ? 

We  live  by  desire  to  live  ;  we  live  by  choice ; 
by  will,  by  thought,  by  virtue,  by  the  vivacity  of 
the  laws  which  we  obey,  and  obeying  share  their 
life,  —  or  w^e  die  by  sloth,  by  disobedience,  by  los 
ing  hold  of  life,  which  ebbs  out  of  us.  But  whilst 
I  find  the  signatures,  the  hints  and  suggestions, 
noble  and  wholesome,  —  whilst  I  find  that  all  the 
ways  of  virtuous  living  lead  upward  and  not  down 
ward,  —  yet  it  is  not  my  duty  to  prove  to  myself 
the  immortality  of  the  soul.  That  knowledge  is 
hidden  very  cunningly.  Perhaps  the  archangels 
cannot  find  the  secret  of  their  existence,  as  the  eye 
cannot  see  itself ;  —  but,  ending  or  endless,  to  live 
whilst  I  live. 

There  is  a  drawback  to  the  value  of  all  state- 


328  IMMORTALITY. 

merits  of  the  doctrine,  and  I  think  that  one  ab 
stains  from  writing  or  printing  on  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  because,  when  he  comes  to  the  end  of 
his  statement,  the  hungry  eyes  that  run  through  it 
will  close  disappointed ;  the  listeners  say,  That  is 
not  here  which  we  desire ;  —  and  I  shall  be  as 
much  wronged  by  their  hasty  conclusions,  as  they 
feel  themselves  wronged  by  my  omissions.  I  mean 
that  I  am  a  better  believer,  and  all  serious  souls 
are  better  believers  in  the  immortality,  than  we  can 
give  grounds  for.  The  real  evidence  is  too  subtle, 
or  is  higher  than  we  can  write  down  in  proposi 
tions,  and  therefore  Wordsworth's  "  Ode "  is  the 
best  modern  essay  on  the  subject. 

We  cannot  prove  our  faith  by  syllogisms.  The 
argument  refuses  to  form  in  the  mind.  A  conclu 
sion,  an  inference,  a  grand  augury,  is  ever  hover 
ing,  but  attempt  to  ground  it,  and  the  reasons  are 
all  vanishing  and  inadequate.  You  cannot  make  a 
written  theory  or  demonstration  of  this  as  you  can 
an  orrery  of  the  Copernican  astronomy.  It  must 
be  sacredly  treated.  Speak  of  the  mount  in  the 
mount.  Not  by  literature  or  theology,  but  only  by 
rare  integrity,  by  a  man  permeated  and  perfumed 
with  airs  of  heaven,  —  with  manliest  or  womanliest 
enduring  love,  —  can  the  vision  be  clear  to  a  use 
the  most  sublime.  And  hence  the  fact  that  in  the 
minds  of  men  the  testimony  of  a  few  inspired  souls 


IMMORTALITY.  329 

has  had  such  weight  and  penetration.  You  shall 
not  say,  "  O  my  bishop,  O  my  pastor,  is  there  any 
resurrection?  What  do  you  think?  Did  Dr. 
Channing  believe  that  we  should  know  each  other  ? 
did  Wesley?  did  Butler?  did  Fenelon?"  What 
questions  are  these !  Go  read  Milton,  Shakspeare, 
or  any  truly  ideal  poet.  Read  Plato,  or  any  seer 
of  the  interior  realities.  Read  St.  Augustine,  Swe- 
denborg,  Immanuel  Kant.  Let  any  master  simply 
recite  to  you  the  substantial  laws  of  the  intellect, 
and  in  the  presence  of  the  laws  themselves  you  will 
never  ask  such  primary-school  questions. 

Is  immortality  only  an  intellectual  quality,  or, 
shall  I  say,  only  an  energy,  there  being  no  pas 
sive  ?  He  has  it,  and  he  alone,  who  gives  life  to 
all  names,  persons,  things,  where  he  comes.  No 
religion,  not  the  wildest  mythology  dies  for  him ; 
no  art  is  lost.  He  vivifies  what  he  touches.  Fu 
ture  state  is  an  illusion  for  the  ever-present  state. 
It  is  not  length  of  life,  but  depth  of  life.  It  is  not 
duration,  but  a  taking  of  the  soul  out  of  time,  as 
all  high  action  of  the  mind  does :  when  we  are  liv 
ing  in  the  sentiments  we  ask  no  questions  about 
time.  The  spiritual  world  takes  place  ;  —  that 
which  is  always  the  same.  But  see  how  the  senti 
ment  is  wise.  Jesus  explained  nothing,  but  the 
influence  of  him  took  people  out  of  time,  and  they 
felt  eternal.  A  great  integrity  makes  us  immortal ; 


330  IMMORTALITY. 

an  admiration,  a  deep  love,  a  strong  will,  arms  us 
above  fear.  It  makes  a  day  memorable.  We  say 
we  lived  years  in  that  hour.  It  is  strange  that 
Jesus  is  esteemed  by  mankind  the  bringer  of  the 
doctrine  of  immortality.  He  is  never  once  weak  or 
sentimental ;  he  is  very  abstemious  of  explanation, 
he  never  preaches  the  personal  immortality  ;  whilst 
Plato  and  Cicero  had  both  allowed  themselves  to 
overstep  the  stern  limits  of  the  spirit,  and  gratify 
the  people  with  that  picture. 

How  ill  agrees  this  majestieal  immortality  of  our 
religion  with  the  frivolous  population !  Will  you 
build  magnificently  for  mice  ?  Will  you  offer  em 
pires  to  such  as  cannot  set  a  house  or  private  affairs 
in  order  ?  Here  are  people  who  cannot  dispose  of 
a  day ;  an  hour  hangs  heavy  on  their  hands ;  and 
will  you  offer  them  rolling  ages  without  end?  But 
this  is  the  way  we  rise.  Within  every  man's 
thought  is  a  higher  thought,  —  within  the  character 
he  exhibits  to-day,  a  higher  character.  The  youth 
puts  off  the  illusions  of  the  child,  the  man  puts  off 
the  ignorance  and  tumultuous  passions  of  youth  ; 
proceeding  thence  puts  off  the  egotism  of  manhood, 
arid  becomes  at  last  a  public  and  universal  soul. 
He  is  rising  to  greater  heights,  but  also  rising  to 
realities ;  the  outer  relations  and  circumstances 
dying  out,  he  entering  deeper  into  God,  God  into 
Mm,  until  the  last  garment  of  egotism  falls,  and  he 


IMMORTALITY.  331 

is  with  God,  —  shares  the  will  and  the  immensity 
of  the  First  Cause. 

It  is  curious  to  find  the  selfsame  feeling,  that  it 
is  not  immortality,  but  eternity,  —  not  duration, 
but  a  state  of  abandonment  to  the  Highest,  and  so 
the  sharing  of  His  perfection,  —  appearing  in  the 
farthest  east  and  west.  The  human  mind  takes  no 
account  of  geography,  language,  or  legends,  but  in 
all  utters  the  same  instinct. 

Yama,  the  lord  of  Death,  promised  Nachiketas, 
the  son  of  Gautama,  to  grant  him  three  boons  at 
his  own  choice.  Nachiketas,  knowing  that  his  fa 
ther  Gautama  was  offended  with  him,  said,  "  O 
Death !  let  Gautama  be  appeased  in  mind,  and  for 
get  his  anger  against  me :  this  I  choose  for  the  first 
boon."  Yama  said,  "  Through  my  favor,  Gautama 
will  remember  thee  with  love  as  before."  For  the 
second  boon,  Nachiketas  asks  that  the  fire  by  which 
heaven  is  gained  be  made  known  to  him  ;  which 
also  Yama  allows,  and  says,  "Choose  the  third 
boon,  O  Nachiketas  !  "  Nachiketas  said,  there  is 
this  inquiry.  Some  say  the  soul  exists  after  the 
death  of  man  ;  others  say  it  does  not  exist.  This  I 
should  like  to  know,  instructed  by  thee.  Such  is 
the  third  of  the  boons.  Yama  said,  "  For  this 
question,  it  was  inquired  of  old,  even  by  the  gods ; 
for  it  is  not  easy  to  understand  it.  Subtle  is  its  na 
ture.  Choose  another  boon,  O  Nachiketas!  Do 


332  IMMORTALITY. 

not  compel  me  to  this."  Nachiketas  said,  "  Even 
by  the  gods  was  it  inquired.  And  as  to  what  thou 
sayest,  O  Death,  that  it  is  not  easy  to  understand 
it,  there  is  no  other  speaker  to  be  found  like  thee. 
There  is  no  other  boon  like  this."  Yama  said, 
"  Choose  sons  and  grandsons  who  may  live  a  hun 
dred  years ;  choose  herds  of  cattle ;  choose  elephants 
and  gold  and  horses ;  choose  the  wide  expanded 
earth,  and  live  thyself  as  many  years  as  thou  listeth. 
Or,  if  thou  knowest  a  boon  like  this,  choose  it, 
together  with  wealth  and  far-extending  life.  Be 
a  king,  O  Nachiketas !  On  the  wide  earth  I  will 
make  thee  the  enjoyer  of  all  desires.  All  those  de 
sires  that  are  difficult  to  gain  in  the  world  of  mor 
tals,  all  those  ask  thou  at  thy  pleasure ; — those  fair 
nymphs  of  heaven  with  their  chariots,  with  their 
musical  instruments  ;  for  the  like  of  them  are  not 
to  be  gained  by  men.  I  will  give  them  to  thee, 
but  do  not  ask  the  question  of  the  state  of  the  soul 
after  death."  Nachiketas  said,  "All  those  enjoy 
ments  are  of  yesterday.  With  thee  remain  thy 
horses  and  elephants,  with  thee  the  dance  and  song. 
If  we  should  obtain  wealth,  we  live  only  as  long  as 
thou  pleasest.  The  boon  which  I  choose  I  have 
said."  Yama  said,  "  One  thing  is  good,  another  is 
pleasant.  Blessed  is  he  who  takes  the  good,  but  he 
who  chooses  the  pleasant  loses  the  object  of  man. 
But  thou,  considering  the  objects  of  desire,  hast 


IMMORTALITY.  333 

abandoned  them.  These  two,  ignorance  (whose 
object  is  what  is  pleasant)  and  knowledge  (whose 
object  is  what  is  good),  are  known  to  be  far  asun 
der,  and  to  lead  to  different  goals.  Believing  this 
world  exists,  and  not  the  other,  the  careless  youth 
is  subject  to  my  sway.  That  knowledge  for  which 
thou  hast  asked  is  not  to  be  obtained  by  argument. 
I  know  worldly  happiness  is  transient,  for  that  firm 
one  is  not  to  be  obtained  by  what  is  not  firm.  The 
wise,  by  means  of  the  union  of  the  intellect  with 
the  soul,  thinking  him  whom  it  is  hard  to  behold, 
leaves  both  grief  and  joy.  Thee,  O  Nachiketas ! 
I  believe  a  house  whose  door  is  open  to  Brahma. 
Brahma  the  supreme,  whoever  knows  him  obtains 
whatever  he  wishes.  The  soul  is  not  born  ;  it  does 
not  die ;  it  was  not  produced  from  any  one.  Nor 
was  any  produced  from  it.  Unborn,  eternal,  it  is 
not  slain,  though  the  body  is  slain ;  subtler  than 
what  is  subtle,  greater  than  what  is  great,  sitting  it 
goes  far,  sleeping  it  goes  everywhere.  Thinking 
the  soul  as  unbodily  among  bodies,  firm  among 
fleeting  things,  the  wise  man  casts  off  all  grief. 
The  soul  cannot  be  gained  by  knowledge,  not  by 
understanding,  not  by  manifold  science.  It  can  be 
obtained  by  the  soul  by  which  it  is  desired.  It  re 
veals  its  own  truths." 


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